(okay, i apologize for how shitty this one is, and i'm going to stop filling all the prompts now)
They smoked a lot now. They had always smoked a lot, of course, the short trip to Ron’s weed room being too unbelievable to resist, but it somehow seemed necessary now.
Ron had gotten off on a mere technicality, but still elected to move house, choosing a more secure housing complex a few streets away. Biggz never came with them; he didn’t do much these days, just sat in his room playing Fifa and staring off into space. His mum worried, but was at a loss as to how to fix her broken son, how to bring him back to her.
And so Pest and Moses would pack themselves off to Ron’s almost daily. He never said anything, never charged them, just stood back and let them in with an undistinguishable glint in his eyes. Brewis was there sometimes too, filling the space with his awkward comments and spindly limbs. The smoke would plug up the holes, permeating the air until even Brewis’ voice stopped short.
That was how Pest and Moses coped, how they were able to exist in this new life.
“Hey, Pest,” Moses would say.
“What up, cuz,” Pest would reply, a cough hidden in the tremor of his voice. He never could handle smoking as well as the other boys.
“Do you believe it?” Moses would ask, his voice distant.
There was always a pause, as Pest tried to figure out what Moses was referring to this time. It could be the alien invasion they had staved off or their friends that had never made it out, Ron’s new digs or Sam’s solid place in their lives. It was up to Pest to discern the meaning behind Moses’ question, and he usually pointed for the innocuous, the innocently mundane. Talking about the past made it tangible, turned it into a stark reality they couldn’t hope to push past.
But today, something was off; Brewis wasn’t huddled in the corner, and Ron had disappeared into the weed room to do some business. And, for whatever reason, Pest had chosen the palpable, the the concrete. “I can’t,” he replied softly, the softest Moses had ever heard him. “Dennis would have loved this, you know. Nice digs, free weed, the works. He’d have been happy.”
The words hung between them for a moment, untouched and precarious. Pest waited in the fog of smoke, uncertain, suddenly wishing he had just made a joke about Brewis, about Sam, anything but this. But then Moses smiled, his teeth winking in the murky half-light. “Can you imagine Jerome in here?” he asked, rolling his head to look over at Pest. “He’d be polishing his glasses, just looking out the window, making a crack about Dennis.”
Pest laughed, a foreign sound. “Dennis would round on him, cuz, believe. And the Jerome would dive behind the couch and try not shit himself.”
Moses hooted with laugher, and Pest looked over at him and smiled. And, for the first time, this new life didn’t seem so scary.
They smoked a lot now. They had always smoked a lot, of course, the short trip to Ron’s weed room being too unbelievable to resist, but it somehow seemed necessary now.
Ron had gotten off on a mere technicality, but still elected to move house, choosing a more secure housing complex a few streets away. Biggz never came with them; he didn’t do much these days, just sat in his room playing Fifa and staring off into space. His mum worried, but was at a loss as to how to fix her broken son, how to bring him back to her.
And so Pest and Moses would pack themselves off to Ron’s almost daily. He never said anything, never charged them, just stood back and let them in with an undistinguishable glint in his eyes. Brewis was there sometimes too, filling the space with his awkward comments and spindly limbs. The smoke would plug up the holes, permeating the air until even Brewis’ voice stopped short.
That was how Pest and Moses coped, how they were able to exist in this new life.
“Hey, Pest,” Moses would say.
“What up, cuz,” Pest would reply, a cough hidden in the tremor of his voice. He never could handle smoking as well as the other boys.
“Do you believe it?” Moses would ask, his voice distant.
There was always a pause, as Pest tried to figure out what Moses was referring to this time. It could be the alien invasion they had staved off or their friends that had never made it out, Ron’s new digs or Sam’s solid place in their lives. It was up to Pest to discern the meaning behind Moses’ question, and he usually pointed for the innocuous, the innocently mundane. Talking about the past made it tangible, turned it into a stark reality they couldn’t hope to push past.
But today, something was off; Brewis wasn’t huddled in the corner, and Ron had disappeared into the weed room to do some business. And, for whatever reason, Pest had chosen the palpable, the the concrete. “I can’t,” he replied softly, the softest Moses had ever heard him. “Dennis would have loved this, you know. Nice digs, free weed, the works. He’d have been happy.”
The words hung between them for a moment, untouched and precarious. Pest waited in the fog of smoke, uncertain, suddenly wishing he had just made a joke about Brewis, about Sam, anything but this. But then Moses smiled, his teeth winking in the murky half-light. “Can you imagine Jerome in here?” he asked, rolling his head to look over at Pest. “He’d be polishing his glasses, just looking out the window, making a crack about Dennis.”
Pest laughed, a foreign sound. “Dennis would round on him, cuz, believe. And the Jerome would dive behind the couch and try not shit himself.”
Moses hooted with laugher, and Pest looked over at him and smiled. And, for the first time, this new life didn’t seem so scary.
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it's so good
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