A Sample From, "BINGO"
by
Claudia B. Modie
&
Simon Palmer
REMEMBERING
THE PAST
2007
(1)
The houses were either boarded up or burnt out; the ones still
occupied looked as if they should be condemned. Shopping trolleys littered the
streets, almost like soldiers, guarding the smashed up cars joy riders had set
fire to. Uncared for dogs roamed the streets, scavenging the over spilling
dustbins in search of something to eat.
A gang of youths, the oldest looking no more than
eleven, threw stones at an unfortunate cat, as it dared to prowl past them.
“I can’t believe the
state of this hellhole, I mean, it wasn’t exactly posh or anything when I lived
here, but this, this is just awful. How can people live like this?” he pulled
the two-seater sports car over and killed the engine.
“Here it is then,” he exclaimed, pointing towards
a dilapidated house, “Number 47, the place I lived for the first 17 years of my
life.”
The woman in the passenger seat, the man’s wife,
looked towards the hovel of a home. Bed sheets hung crookedly at the downstairs
windows, while the glazing upstairs was all but gone. Illegible graffiti added
local clarity to the property, which was obviously being used as a crack den.
The rotting corpse of a roast chicken sat in pride of place on the overgrown
pathway.
“My god . . .
its making me feel unclean just looking at it!”
“Yeah, just think, if it wasn’t for that morning
at school all those years ago, I could’ve
. . . probably would’ve ended up
in a dump like that. Sticking needles in me arm and drinking bleach I expect.”
The two of them continued to stare in utter
disbelief at their surroundings, the awkward silence disturbed by the sudden
shrill of the woman’s mobile phone, “Janice Pickering, can I help?”
The man looked on, as his wife listened intently
to what the caller was saying, until a haggard looking woman caught his eye.
She seemed to stroll
along the litter-strewn path oblivious to her surroundings, in a world of her
own.
Although she was weighed down with shopping bags,
it appeared her struggle had more to do with her legs than with what she was
carrying. On hearing the car door slam,
she looked up to see a hefty middle-aged man coming towards her.
“Get away
from me you lump of fuckin’ shit!” she screeched, fear filling the lines of her
weather beaten face.
“It’s ok . . . I’m not gonna hurt you . . . Bell Bell
The woman looked totally bemused, “What? Who are
you?”
“Honestly, I’m not gonna hurt you . . . my names
Jason, Jason Pickering,” he said, cautiously moving closer.
The old woman remained bemused, until, quite
suddenly, the penny dropped, “Jabba?”
Jason grinned, “Yup, it’s me, Jabba.” His eyes
welled with tears as he held out his arms. Bell
She threw her bony arms around his neck and
hugged him as if life depended on it, “Oh my Jabba, you came back . . . you
always said you would.”
Once she released her grip and looked up into his
face, her hand made a tremendous slapping sound as it connected with his cheek,
“That’s for leaving it so long you little bastard!”
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