Tribal

The flames reflected the war paint smeared across hair and faces which only pronounced the shine in their eyes. The aroma of cooked liver and fried cables mingled with melting plastic that sizzled beneath the flames. The bass bellowed from the stereo to compete with heartbeats as adrenaline spiked to the raw heavy metal pounding their ears.

Ripped from a dream, the lights came on, and the sound stopped mid-metallic-scream.

‘What the hell is going on out here?’ The man’s voice echoed across the courtyard.

The three teens seated in the circle around the burning barbecue blinked at the light.

‘Where are my children?’

‘Here, Dad,’ they called out, waving while tied to the tree.

‘Why are you tied up?’

‘We’re the human sacrifices.’

‘What are you burning? Are you wearing my wife’s dresses, and her makeup? What kind of babysitters are you?’

‘The cheap kind–like your scotch,’ said the babysitter, skulling straight from the bottle.

(150 words)

want to see what else happens in Surburbia…

HSN TW2

Blame The Good Doctor

Rainbow Bali-beads swung from plaited hair strands. Painted fingernails matched the beads’ colour palette. Glitter fell like fairy dust from rouged cheeks. In mismatched, oversized shoes, he flip-flopped in time to muffled music echoing from his headphones. People dodged as he weaved while he focused on his textbooks until he stopped and waited in line for his bus.
“What happened to you?” Asked the woman beside him.
“I was babysitting these cretins who spiked my coffee while I was studying for today’s exam. I blame Dr. Seuss for this.”

(89 words)

“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose.” Dr Suess.