So, I started Work Experience today. To be honest with you, I'm having quite a mixed reaction about it. The down side is more of less the constant standing up, though I really should have anticipated that. But I've had fun, the day dragged in some ways, but I was kept occupied.
I've learnt to respect the staff of WH Smith, I never realized what a hard job they have. So, I'll take that home with me and learn from it.
Also, another thing I've completely forgot to mention is the fact that I've applied for a job at Waterstones. I know. Finally, right?
So the job is for 24 hours. I'm really looking forward to hearing back from them. Hopefully if I get the job there they supply chairs. I can't deal with standing on my feet for 24 hours a week. Well, once I get back to school in September I'll have to decrease my hours. Fit my work around school life. It shouldn't be too bad. Hopefully.
I just need to hope that I hear back from them.
A job at Waterstones... well, there are no words to describe how amazing that would be.
Anyway, happy 200 days of blogging.
To celebrate. Here's the next load of useless stuff for you. I've done some more writing for my own story I posted a couple of days ago, it's working title is Do You Remember Me?
I'll start from the beginning of Chapter 2 as I left it a little after that.
Chapter 2
“Look at him. Do you think he’s stoned?” I heard a voice ask as my mind was surfacing to consciousness. I opened one eye slightly, it was still dark outside.
“Probably. Look at all those cuts on him. He must have been in a fight.” Another voice said.
“Hey, kid, you can’t sleep here. It’s our spot.” The first voice said.
“Says who?” I asked, a sleepy haze in my mind.
“Says us. Now scram.” The first one replied.
“No.” I replied. I don’t know why I said it. I was going to say ‘okay’ and move on, now these guys were grinning down at me. It was dark so I couldn’t see them properly. They were big though. Muscled. Probably very good fighters, very good at fighting dirty. There’s just no end to my pain.
“Well, I guess you chose wrong.” Before I could even think, the second man picked me up and punched me hard in the gut. In an old wound. I was temporarily wounded, doubled over in pain. But before I could blink, they first one punched me, his fist colliding with my skull. Stars flashed across my head. I was feeling distinctly dizzy. Nauseous.
I didn’t know how to defend myself.
That’s when I started panicking.
How was I going to stop myself from getting killed?
There was no one out there to help me. I was all alone.
The pain intensified as both of them started attacking me at the same time. Punches and kicks came from every direction. Bruising my bruises. Cutting my cuts. I could feel the blood run down my head.
When would it be my time to have a saviour.
“Leave him alone.” A new voice shouted. Quickly stopping the assault. My saviour. At least I hoped it wasn’t someone who was coming to get dibs on me.
“Give me one good reason?” The first of the men asked.
I fell to the floor. Weak. Defenceless. Unconscious.
“Hey, kid, wake up.” I heard through the haze. My vision was blurry as I struggled to open my eyes. “How are ya feeling?”
“Great.” I replied. Sarcasm intended.
“Here, take this. It’ll help you.” I looked up at the man and he was giving me a long cigarette.
“I don’t smoke.” I said this even though I wasn’t entirely sure myself that I didn’t smoke.
“It’s okay. It’s good for you.” Something told me he was lying. “It’ll make you feel better.”
“If you say so.” I gave in and accepted the cigarette and smoked it. I coughed first thing, it tasted strange. “What is that?”
“Pot.”
“What’s that?”
“You grow up in a bubble or something? It’s a drug.” He said somewhat impatiently. I didn’t care though, the world was starting to look strange. My heart was racing. It felt good.
“It’s good.” I said.
“Damn right it’s good.” He replied, pulling out another joint out of an unknown pocket in his old ragged coat.
“So, what happened with those guys back there?” I asked. I’d only know remembered them. I didn’t want to, but I did.
“I don’t know. You scared them away somehow. I was telling them to back off, you did something. I can’t describe it. They ran. I brought you over to the Hole with me.” He explained, inhaling the drug slowly.
“I don’t remember doing anything.” I replied, my mind racing through the events before I passed out.
“You did hit your head pretty hard. I’m not surprised. What’s your name?”
“Jeff.”
“Jeff? We don’t get too many Jeff’s around her. Good choice.”
“How do you know Jeff’s not my real name? And what about you? What’s your name?”
“I just know.” Well, that was vague. And wait –
“You didn’t say your name.”
“People around her call me John.”
“John?”
“Do I need a parrot?”
“Sorry.”
“What’re you apologising for?” Okay, this guy must have like multiple personality disorder or something. He’s just nuts.
“Nothing.”
“Well don’t say it then.” He replied. We sat in silence for a while. It was a comfortable silence. For the first time since I woke up, I felt safe. Like nothing could harm me.
Chapter 3.
I stayed with John for days. I didn’t have nothing to do. He gave me jobs. Taking pot to the people who bought it from him. I’d taken to my new name quite well. I had a name now. I was someone. I was Jeff.
With John I felt like nothing bad could happen to me. Sure, he was hard sometimes. He had strange habits of snapping for no reason. I didn’t mind. He didn’t mind me being with him. He told me that I was a ‘prized possession.’ I’m guessing that’s something good.
Day by day went. I’d lost count of how many days had gone by. Pot grew with me too. I was getting used to the stuff now. I liked the feelings it brought out of me. I’d never felt happiness in my moments before John. I now knew what that happiness was.
I felt like I belonged.
“Hey, kid. Stop daydreaming. You and Mac need to go to meet Ashley down the pier. We have a special job today.” That was John. He’d gotten into this habit of calling me kid. I told him repeatedly my name was Jeff. He kept calling me Kid. He told me ‘I’ll call you what I damn well want to call you.’ That was just John, being John.
“Alright.” Mac was another boy who worked for John. He was a nice kid. He knew the ropes. He was older than me. He introduced me to drink. Alcohol. He said nobody went a day without drinking it. The taste was bad at first. I quickly got used to it. Alcohol was the only thing Mac would drink.
When I’d left the Hole, a little abandoned shopping residence where I was currently living with John, I found Mac sitting outside waiting. His usual can of Strongbow waiting in his hand.
“You want some?” He asked me, shoving the can in my face.
“No, thanks.” I replied. I wasn’t in the mood, and John had said important. That usually meant that we were doing a big delivery. I’d done one or two of these now. The more you did, the easier it got. John rewarded well, he gave me a good couple of joints of pot. That was the only reason I was doing this for him.
Strange things had started happening to me. I wasn’t sure whether to be afraid or not. It’s hard to describe. I keep feeling these things. Like, someone is watching you. I keep drawing these circle things when I’m zoning out. I think something and that happens. Like this one time, I thought about having a joint and it appeared.
Other things have been happening too. My appearance changes sometimes. I have dark hair, bordering on black, but I woke up one morning and it was blonde. I closed my eyes and looked back in the mirror and it was normal again.
I’m no sure what’s happening.
I’m not sure if I like it.
I have a feeling something bad is going to happen.
We arrived at our destination within a short amount of time. We met the porter. He secretly bought from John, so any big dealings of pot came in through him. John ordered. He picked up.
We handed the Porter (we didn’t know his real name. Though Mac swore his name was Gus.) his money and he tipped his cap as we walked away from him.
We finished our deliveries quickly. We always did it quick. It wasn’t out of paranoia that we’d get caught. We knew we wouldn’t get caught. Or at least that’s what John said. We finished quick because I would always be gasping for a joint and Mac would always want a can.
Ashley just tagged along as we gave into our desires. I loved the feeling of my heart racing up. The feeling that spread across me as I was smoking my joint. I loved the feeling of being free.
I hated that captive feeling that clung to me like clothing. I hated having to carry that feeling wherever I went. Pot got rid of that feeling.
“Hey, Jeff. You now you should stop smoking that stuff.” Ashley was starting again. He was like this every time he caught me smoking the joint. He got extremely pissy with me about it when I smoked more than one.
“Piss off.” Was the only response I gave him. He wasn’t offended by that comment. I’d said it to him enough over the last couple of days.
“It’s not doing you any good. You’re just getting more and more addicted. How many have you had today?”
“Dunno. Maye around 4, maybe 5.”
“See, that’s bad.”
“You’re the one talking. You help deliver the stuff.”
“I do it for the money, so I can feed my family.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have that kind of responsibility. I wouldn’t know the feeling.” I replied, boy, I knew the kind of pressure he was under. I felt it every day. Even though he doesn’t know it. John has sort of become a father figure to me. I look up to him. He’s a good man to me. I don’t want to leave his side.
“You should get away from John. He’s not doing you any good.”
“Don’t say that. You don’t know what John’s done for me.”
“What John’s done for you? Come on, I’m speaking to you hear as a friend, listen to me before you get too lost in your joint. He’s got you addicted to the stuff. You should backaway whilst you still have the chance.”
“Look, man, leave it.”
“I’ll leave it when you leave him.”
I didn’t answer him. I didn’t want to. He just destroyed the good feeling the joint had given me. I got out another one, and just to piss him off, I blew the smoke in his face. He gave me a disgusted look, but he didn’t say anymore.
Whilst all this was going on, Mac seemed to be thinking. He’d had an idea. I hated Mac’s ideas. They never were any good to us. John always shouted at us for it. If it was really bad, he’d hit us. Hard. I did not want to go through that again.
He convinced me to do it though. Me. A foolish boy high on a joint of pot. I couldn’t have made a bigger mistake in my life. So far.
So here you have it.
I'm going to bed.
Maybe I'll have some more of the story to add tomorrow.
I know it's all short and doesn't make sense. But it'll make sense after I've finished with the story and edited it. It's going to be good fun...
Night!
Happy 200 blog posts!
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