The world’s worst parents
It all started when we were ten, Ralph and me. Our parents
had yelled beat and embarrassed us since birth and we were both sick of it.
Together we had founded the “I hate parents club” which
included myself as Prime Minister, Ralph as President (he obviously deserved the
post as his mother tried to abandon him on the high way at Christmas) and Judie,
our dog, as citizen x.
Every Monday and Saturday afternoon I’d race to the tree
house behind the old graveyard were the grass were overgrown and together with
Ralph we’d plot schemes and write up plans how to survive parents.
This went for years until we finally realized that one
thing that made us became the worst parents in the world that is that once we
grow we would be the parents ourselves which meant no more slaving around the
house ,no more crying ,no more begging .
This time we would have been in charge and no one could
stop us from gaining control …after all children are helpless at home .
Today Ralph and I work in a agreement with C.I.A. We were
married at eighteen and we’ve had two children, Max and Martin .They were the
first employers (slaves) of the C.L.E (children labour energy). The C.L.E is a
project which has first secretly founded by Hitler in the 1940, it was later
abandoned when he died ,but then we and the United States of America re-build
it’s inner structure and realized the dream of our greatest creation: “the Hell
Every morning orphans and regular children are recruited
from every part of the world, from every parent who believes in the idea that
children are only good at one thing: work.
Then by F.B.I they are all gathered, chained in pairs and
thrown into army trucks with
“Fresh meat” labelled on the, which a journey through the
slums to gather up the children who play on the streets, kidnap them and finally
bring them all to the place where all come in and none escape (The Hell House)
In the Hell house works former Nazi Leader Herr Rosch
Dicluzkov, our most eager employee.
When the trucks arrive, filled wit crying, screaming and
coughing little midgets, he’s the one who gives them their prisoner numbers and
sets them to work, beneath the grown to turn enormous turbines which generate
electrical energy to provide the whole of North America with 24 hours
Surprised? Did you really believe it all comes from “the
burning of fossil fuels?” Like they taught all the innocent little brats at
those useless schools? Really all the fossil fuel in the world have almost been
exhausted ,the real power comes from the slaving sweating backs of all those
children who work till they die ,after all every two seconds a baby is born in
Africa ,it is not like we’ll run out of employees if we don’t feed them.
Once perished the bodies are grinded and given to feed
cows. (ever wonder where the mad cow disease really comes from ) and the best
part is that all the world leaders are aware of this ,but no one dares to do a
Technically the worst parents in the world are Ralph and
myself, but sometimes when we are alone at night ,the starlight shinning down
upon my window and the cold wind blowing through my hair ,I can’t help ,buy
wonder what would the word have been like if my parents had treated me better
.The Twin Tower wouldn’t fallen by the terrorists who thought the headquarter of
the C.L.E was there, the kidnap rate in the Unites States wouldn’t be out of the
chart ,the thousand of men proved guilty of crimes they didn’t commit
(kidnapping) would still be free and yes sometimes I even wish it was all gone
and everything was like it should be.
Unfortunately it isn’t. Even if I wanted to I could never
escape from the C.L.E. The hell house will always remain the worst most fearful
scores of consecutive years the city of Santa Fe was in decline. Vacancies were
becoming scarce and redundancy was at its pinnacle. The redundant were morphing
into thugs, villains and robbers resorting to many criminal and illegal actives.
The city was building its popularity amid the druggists and ‘criminals’ it was
transmuting its name to be known as ‘The crime side’. In response to tension and
tribulations, countless people had sold their property and migrated to greater
rewarding locations. Exodus was in motion. Property values had become flaccid
and were weltering with time.
Jim was a common mechanic; his blood-line ran into the heart of Santa Fe, he was
a rightful inhabitant. Conversely, life for him was getting harsh; he knew he
would not last long; his reserves were in a period of drought. He had to act
promptly, either to stay with the crisis or to leave the desolate city and its
dilemma of problems.
“Are you mad?” bellowed his father.
Is this guy a nut? How
the hell can he stay here? “I am serious, I am leaving Santa Fe and heading for
Los Angeles, I have been left redundant for three months by Chevron Texaco, I am
surviving on being a mechanic who gets no customers how am I supposed to pay my
expenses huh?” replied Jim.
“Well since you have
made up your mind! I might as well wish you good luck on your voyage” his father
shook his head with great disbelief and anguish.
Jim embraced his father and bid him
farewell as he embarked with his faithful comrade, a dog-called Murray on a
sidesplitting motor-bike. The motor-bike which was one of his own mechanical
inventions; he had been preparing it for three full months. The motor-bike even
had a leather boot which was used as a second seating. It was finely polished,
made from various hodgepodges, bits and pieces of footwear. The boot enclosed a
velvet swathe; it was a colossal shoe, which tied up with the motor.
Jim sped away to his destination Los
Angeles. The journey would take a day; he would have to pass through the
picturesque yet treacherous Grand Canyon and the Mojave Desert. His only
possessions were a few thousand dollars, a credit card, a few clothes and his
The sun was dishing out scorching
light and the atmosphere was sucking up his sweat, yet Jim was undeterred. There
was not even a car in sight. Jim pulled over to the gas station, refuelled his
motorcycle and continued to his destination. His mind was constantly bombarded
with memories of his family and local habitat.
His long journey continued until he
reached the immense blood-red Grand Canyon, which was cut by the shimmering
Colorado River into the high-plateau region of north-western Arizona. The Grand
Canyon seemed to be fabricated from the depths of the earth; it was a barren
land, scorching, uninhabited and desolate. The broad, intricately sculptured
chasm of the canyon contained between its outer walls a multitude of imposing
peaks, buttes, gorges, and ravines. The Colorado River was in its dark blue
colour, the red canyon and each stratum had a distinctive hue—buff and gray,
delicate green and pink, and, in its depths, brown, slate-grey, and violet.
Jim’s spirit was captivated by the sheer size of the barren land and the
stunning scenery. Even the view from the cliffs and ravines were refreshing,
exciting and yet tantalizing with the tremendous heights.
His regrets were washed away by the
enormous tides of emotions he felt, he now more then ever wanted to reach his
destination with his faithful companion Murray.
Jim arrived in the arid region of
south-eastern California and portions of Nevada, Arizona, and Utah, U.S in just
a few hours drive from the Grand Canyon. Jim had arrived at the magnificent
Mojave Desert. The Mojave had a typical mountain-and-basin topography with
The intermittent Mojave River
shimmered like silver and flowed predominately underground to Soda Lake, it
moved and slithered carrying he boulders in its path. The Colorado River could
also be seen from the horizon like a slithering snake that was situated close to
the eastern edge of the mortifying desert. Cattle could also be seen exploiting
the few pieces of shrubs here and there.
Jim was exhausted, so he decided to
spend the night out in the intimidating yet astounding Mojave Desert. It was
getting late, Jim thought that he would reach Los Angeles today but reality
dislocated his schedule. Jim began by scavenging for pieces of dry copse and
wood with Murray.
The sun was setting and different
hues of dying light spread around the desert, creating a golden reflection. Jim
and Murray began to eat the roasted brute the audacious companion Murray had
The sky was nearly charcoal back,
there were a few speckles of light from stars were moving westwards and the
winds were relaxing. The temperature was steadily dropping. Jim knew he would
need the colossal boot he had incarcerated on the motor-cycle; it was going to
be his bed, with a little room for his dog.
“Boom, pop, scream”
Jim jolted upright.
Shivers ran down his spinal column. No way was he going outside, it was far too
A hairy hand grabbed,
“What the heck!” yelled Jim;
surprised to find out it was broad daylight.
“Hey, what are you getting upset
about huh, haven’t seen a ‘real’ cowboy before?” asked a man with a cowboy hat.
“Sorry, I though it
was night time and …”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah you people always
get frightened,” said the cowboy styled man, with a bizarre twang as he shook
“Last night I hear a boom, pop and a
scream, do you know anything about that?” asked Jim.
“Sure do. It was me, I killed one of
those slithering rascals” replied the cowboy in his rigid clothing.
“There are snakes here? Wow, I did
not even know. Anyway I am heading for
Los Angeles,” Jim muttered in a frighten
“I wish you a safe journey, I best be
going now” and the cowboy valiantly hurdled on his stallion and rode away into
Jim jam-packed and crammed up
whatever he had into his boot and hit the road. After a few hours drive, he
could see the city of Los Angeles. His plight was ever so close to ending.
Jim imagined the semitropical
metropolis of palm trees and swimming pools, television studios and aerospace
factories where he could get his job. He could see the city sprawling across a
broad coastal plain situated between the mountains, and on the west the glorious
Pacific Ocean. He could see the hallmark of Los Angles, an architecturally
dramatic network of freeways with the automobile dominating the life of its
He hoped one day he could live in
Beverly Hills, Pasadena, or the Long Beach that were exclusively wealthy areas.
The city was grotesquely shaped, like a charred scrap of paper, with independent
municipalities such as Beverly Hills as well as unincorporated county land lying
within its boundaries.
There were many bazaars of specialty
shops, ethnic restaurants, banks, medical buildings, shopping malls, automobile
agencies, realtors’ offices and various other features, it was heaven for Jim.
Jim had arrived at the place he intended now all he had to accomplish was to
steer his own fate.
Grand mama’s Memoirs
Grand mama’s arms trembled slightly under the weight of the hefty scrap book.
She brought it down from its usual spot on the polished redwood bookshelf, and
clutched it to her chest.
Smacking her lips sluggishly, just to tease me, she hunched over slightly as
she always would, brushed her floral housedress slightly with a tired looking
hand, wiping away invisible dust, then shuffled across the floor of her one room
shack towards where I sat on her warm four poster bed.
In the dim glow of the fireplace she looked rather majestic. Her back to the
flames, profile shaded from the dancing light and the orange glow in the
backdrop. She stood before me and lowered herself to the carpeted floor and sat
She placed the auburn rectangle on her lap and I peered over the edge of the
bed to look past her grey head and into the worn and yellowing pages as she
carefully turned them, exposing the black and white prints to the light so I may
see them…just barely.
She had been telling me about my great grand father for sometime now, since I
came to visit in early March and now it was autumn. She had only just decided to
show him to me.
As the page flicking slowed, my eyes fell upon black and white babies,
smiling faces, now-demolished-farmhouses, and then a peculiar photograph of a
moped-buggy bike sort of gizmo with a fair, lean man sitting upon it. Grand mama
stopped as well, this was probably him, her father. He looked rather stern and
rather cold, eyes set on the cut off space before him that only he could see.
His hands gripped the handles as if he really was speeding down a barren
highway. His hair was slicked back and he toted a camel jacket which was clean
looking unlike the bike itself whose wheels had started to rust at the spokes.
What was odd though, was the passenger cart attached to the motorbike. It was
almost as large as the bike itself. Shaped like a large, patent leather shoe,
with a rather small hound seated in its hold. There was a dark picket fence in
the back of the paved road and…
She slammed the book shut. It was a very sharp and hollow sound. It didn’t
really make me jump but caused an outbreak of goose bumps across my skin…or
that might have been the cold wind coming in through the cracks in the ageing
wooden door. She looked at me and I stared back. Her eyes were glistening with
tears now, more than they usually did. I gripped the soft, linen blanketing
under my fingers and let myself sink further into the bed. She had the
“you-look-so-much-like-him” expression on her face but said nothing.
She sniffed loudly and swept her arm across her face. Again she stood,
hunched over slightly, brushed her floral print housedress with her free hand
and then moved to the window opposite us, beside the bookshelf. She looked past
the dirty glass and its moldy panes, beyond the fading shrubbery of the field to
the barn which was always still and quiet. It looked grim and dark in the light
of the fast-setting sun. I was never allowed near the barn and grand mama kept
it under lock and key.
She turned slowly, blocking my view, gazed at me for a time then moved to
replace the book in its small slot in the shelf. She wasn’t smiling any more.
She stood at the doorway and sighed.
“The days were fun. Yes?” she whispered, more to herself than I, in her small
frog tone, hunched over slightly as she always would, brushed her floral print
housedress slightly, spoke again,
“Almost dinner. Shall we go? Shall we eat? Yes. Shall, Shall.” she snickered
to herself then turned again to smile an empty smile.
Something was wrong and there was no doubt that it had something to do with
my great granddad. And as I launched myself off of the duvet covers of grandma’s
bed I looked to the window and barn, framed by grand mama’s odd corduroy
curtains and noticed a something I had not seen before.
Six meters off the ground there was a window. My door way-or shall I say
window way- to what is being kept from me. But now it’s almost dinner and we
Mark my words though, as sure as tomorrow is another day I will find the
reason for grand mama’s tears. Looking up at the bookshelf I know that grand
mama does not grieve for those she has lost but the memories that have slipped
from her mind. And there is something else. But is it really something I want to
look into? Should I?
“Vera…roneekca! Shall we eee…eeat?” came her hoarse cry through the narrow
doorway. I quickened my pace, decided upon what had been troubling me and
breathed to myself an answer to all questions…
“Yes…we shall, we shall.”
Jessica Morel year10
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