"BLOOD LUST"


Prologue

countries in the East stealing power from their people to fund work on nuclear bombs? Or was that just British propaganda told to keep the elder generation from staging more protests outside Parliament?

As with everything else: I didn't really care.

A young boy caught my eye. He was younger than me - and I wasn't going to turn eighteen for another six months. How old I couldn't quite decide. Sixteen? Even younger? He was drunk but kind of pretty. Did he swing it my way? He was certainly staring. But a lot of men stared at me when they were drunk. Apparently I was very pretty, and pretty young boys were what other men liked - straight or gay. I thought myself too tall and lanky, my face too feminine to hide the truth of what I was. My hair had a stupid kink to it that couldn't be straightened or turned into an actual curl. It was thick and dirty blonde in colour and always sat messily on top of my head.

The young boy dropped his eyes away from mine. There was no shyness in his actions. He was just simply bored by my dark stare. Perhaps if I'd thrown him a smile he would have motioned for me to follow him outside and he would have let me bend him over and vent some of my anger at the world. Did I really want to start down that path tonight, though? I'd resisted that form of self-destruction so far and I did not plan on starting the New Year in that fashion. Anyway, there was no need tormenting myself because the boy was hanging off the arm of one of his - straight - friends, laughing with him; forgotten all about me already. That was the usual.

I looked towards the TV. I'd never seen it playing at this time of night before. A man stood in the centre of the screen, Big Ben behind him. It was nearly time to start counting down. The buzz in the room was electrical and I wondered if I should move back towards my parents. Should I celebrate the passing with them? I tried to move, had every intention of doing just that but my feet wouldn't listen. Like most others in the room I was staring up at the television screen that had been placed on a high shelf so that everyone could see it. I wanted to reach out and touch it. I watched so little of it these days that I'd almost forgotten how much power it held.

The man in the middle of the screen - suited, not unattractive in his own middle-aged way - had a microphone in his hand. He was explaining to us, the viewing public, that the government had set aside enough reserves to keep the city lighted for this exciting time of year. Behind him Big Ben did indeed look very bright and well-lit. I was impressed. It was the clock's face I wanted to touch. Just reach out and stroke it and put my fingers over its hands to stop them from moving forward. Although I fantasised over doing it I didn't actually move from where I stood.

"The events have been marred slightly by the protest held," the man was saying. The screen cut to a new angle, one of screaming protestors waving placards about human rights and the injustice of the government's restrictions. I hated them. Frowning, I let out a sigh.

"Stupid pricks," someone said beside me.

I nodded my head in agreement.

"Good on them!" someone shouted from up the back of the room and I prayed it wasn't Dad. The room groaned at the person to shut up. I thought an argument might erupt but the air was too light to let it breathe.

"Get ready, everyone," Terrence suddenly called.

I turned. He was beside the bar now. Not behind it, but right beside it. He was beaming his very large smile at everyone in the room. His eyes met mine and I smiled back. Instinct could make the most unwanted things happen to your body, I had come to realise during the months of depression. Someone smiles and though you're dying inside your lips still curl up in response. Why suck everyone down with you? It's not their fault that your world is falling apart.

"All together now," he called. "Ten… Nine…"

The room took up the chant. I didn't join in. I turned away and looked up at the screen. Amongst the protestors there were plenty of people there to enjoy the show. They looked crazy to me. Out of their minds, drunk on the lights and buzz of electricity.

>> next page [3]