Chapter 5 - TravisMature

That was fucking close! Luckily the Triumph worked just as the bobby appeared. He didn’t seem like your average poufter bobby, this one had passion. It was either because he liked his job (In which case he’s delirious), he’s Russian (In which case he’s crazy) or he’s a Mod who now has an excuse to beat the shit out of us and get away with it (In which case he’s a nutjob and a wanker).

Some sort of a miracle happened whilst I was getting away, which took my completely by surprise – The bike actually worked! I quickly mounted as soon as the bobby appeared, and I swear he grabbed my leg and tried to pull me off, but I floored it and he let go. And when I say floored it, I mean fucking hyperspeed! I was the last one to set off, but within 30 seconds I was ahead of the pack by at least 200 yards. Before I knew it, Bloomsbury Way (Where we attacked the Mod scumbag) had turned into Theobold’s road, and I was around the outskirts of Bloomsbury. Unfortunately, I  forget about the T-junction at the end of the road, saw it too late, broke and skidded into the back of someone who found out that the road ended the easy way. I flipped over the handlebars and onto his bonnet, denting it badly. I think my body’s adapted to pain, as I didn’t break anything, it just hurt a lot in the morning.

The guy who I crashed into got all up in arms about it (Seriously, his face was bright red) whilst everyone around me was laughing. This guy was getting extremely annoyed with me ignoring him, so I just walked back to the bike, which surprised me more than the fact that it worked in the first place. Normally, I would’ve knocked his fucking face through, but that may not have gone down well with the locals.

I picked the bike up, looked over my shoulder, and my heart sank to Hell.

Melanie was there, pointing and laughing with the others, then shouted something like “Oi, Trav, mind out! Your bike may be a pile of scrap but that don’t mean everyone else has to drive scrap, does it?” This really got the locals going and they roared with laughter once again. Embarrassment rose inside me like Yuri Gagarin into space. To make up for it, I punched through the car’s side window, but that just made everyone do a rousing chorus of “Oooh”ing and a couple of shouts of “Big man, are ya?” That was when I realised that I needed to fuck off, and fast.

Melanie was on the floor laughing at me, I’d never felt so humiliated in my life. That’s her out of the picture. Which is a real shame, she’s the perfect girl for me. Her eyes shine brighter than the Northern Star and her hair flows more elegantly than the gentle pattern of the sand-dunes in the Sahara. I want her for myself, but everything I’ve tried to do to win her over doesn’t work. I don’t know if that’s because she doesn’t like me or because I fuck up everything I do. Knowing my luck, it’s probably both, and to the far extremes. If only I could get everything right, then she’ll see me, the real me. Not the fucked-up trying-to-impress-and-be-better-than-everyone me. I can be seriously romantic at times. I’ve even gone through the trouble of writing her sonnets and sending them to her by post.

She’s never replied. And it’s killing me inside, eating me, swallowing me up like a black hole, but from within me. If it carries on, I’ll be nothing but the shell of a human, no soul inside. Just blackness and hopelessness, with no drive for me to carry on living. This’ll be the worst-case scenario, but it’s dangerously close to happening.

It’ll be one of those things that even friends can’t heal, no matter how hard they try. And the things I’ve put my friends through give them every right to exploit this feeling of desolation and despair that will run through me. If I were any one of them, including Gary, the nicest of the nice, I would fuck myself up and leave me to die slowly and painfully, in body and soul.

Speaking of Gary, he was the first person I turned to after the humiliation at the Theobold’s Road accident. I rode round to his house, knocked on his door, and was answered by his mum, who has been like my mum more so than the real one. Me and Gary have been partners in crime since we met at primary school, aged 4. I was extremely shy and nervous, and he was outgoing and enthusiastic, with a drive to help the unfortunate. From that early an age, he had an adult sense of right and wrong. From the word go, he took me under his wing, showed me around, introduced me to new people, and most of all, became my friend. He never exploited me, never shouted at me, never hurt me in any way, and always forgave me for when I did wrong. Even when I purposefully winded him and knocked him down he forgave me.

This happened not so long ago, when I first gazed upon the beauty that is Melanie. He was the first person that I’d told about her, and that I wrote her a letter confessing my love for her. I was meant to meet up with anyone at the local coffee shop, but was late because I fell off the bike, as you do. Before I got there, he’d told everyone about what I did for Melanie, and shouted “Here comes Romeo! How’s the ‘prettiest flower you’ve ever known’?”, quoting my letter sarcastically. Everyone roared with laughter, except me. My anger flared up inside me and spread as quickly as a forest fire throughout every cell in my body. He stood up to get something from the counter, but I turned him around, kicked his guts with my brothel-stompers then smacked his face to the right. He ended up with a nose broken in 2 places, lying unconscious and gasping for breath on the floor. I almost killed him, and he blamed himself. He approached me afterwards, aside from everyone, and said “Trav, I’m sorry for what I shouted. I shouldn’t have embarrassed you for that and can’t blame you for what you did. I completely deserved it. Will you forgive me?” I was utterly shocked! I mean, he really blamed himself for nearly getting murdered? Fuck me, he’s nice. There is not a bad bone in his body. Even his ear bones are filled with goodness. He deserves to be alive, unlike me.

The world would be bearable without me defacing it. Why am I here, God? Why did you create me? What purpose do I serve here? Give me some sort of sign!

I’ve asked God to give me this sign for over a year now, and nothing’s come through. That’s how worthless my life is. Even God ignores my pleas for sanity. Even He wants to see me pushed to the edge and beyond, to laugh when I fall and come out alive but mentally and physically deformed. Even God hates everything about me, that’s how useless I am to the world.

The End

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