Isyra: The Last Outpost

"Opinion? Who asked you for your opinion?"

Annette the pseudo drill sergeant nearly screamed. The woman resembled a lopsided pear, even her color matched the dull beige I was used to from childhood. The blotches on her ancient skin resembled an abused piece of fruit, too. The woman was uncanny.

"No one,"

I replied, lighting up a smoke. Inhaling the metallic tobacco, the woman coughed and wheezed. Surely this wasn’t helping her already deteriorating health.

"Cut that shit out, it burns my eyes."

Sucking down a long drag, I blew it in the bitch's face.

I could see the vein twitching on her forehead as she stifled her raw throated gags. Beating with the rhythm of a snare drum, I swear one of these days it’s just going to pop like a giant zit

“You need to relax,”

I started, taking in another defiant drag; the tip of the fag burned bright red. Probably pretty close to the color of that pulsing varicose.

“Or else you’re going to give yourself another stroke. Really, you’re starting to make a scene, Old Maid. I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t humiliate yourself in front of my God Damn Fucking friends.”

Back before her pops bit the dust (they never found all the pieces), Annette used to buy us all the stuff a sweet old lady shouldn’t buy. She never had kids (I never asked why), so I guess she sort of felt she needed to nurture something other than a tabby or a fern.

It was probably a good thing, her being sterile or whatever. If she treated her own brats like she treated us, those fuckers would have probably been lighting up at five. I liked to think of myself of a rebel, but no one needed that.

Ten maybe, but your mom had better have been a huge bitch to warrant that kind of usage.

“I’m just saying, in my opinion;”

Puff, puff, you old hag.

“I don’t see why you should be concerned with it. So what, he came home a little bloody. The kid has got to fight his own battles, eh Anna? You know what I mean?”

Her mud puddle eyes squinted.

“He’s your little brother for Chrissakes, Duchane. He’s not old enough to drive a car yet, how do you expect him to keep your creepy friends off his shoulders?”

I let it sit for a beat, thinking. Daft Punk was hammering out of Gil’s purple camaro.

“First, Robbie isn’t cr-“

I started, catching myself. I sighed, examining the woman. She crossed her arms over her sagging breasts.

“Okay, Robbie is a fucking gross pedo, I’ll give you that. But he’s not a queer, okay?”

I’d know.

“He was just putzing around and Eddie got a little freaked out. Nothing happened.”

“His jaw is broken.”

“He fell. Chicks dig head gear, plus no one hits a dude with his jaw wired shut.”

The guys were calling me back, going on about some asinine thing or another.

Annette wasn’t convinced. She was jerking like a nervous bird, those ancient mud puddles showing me something I only got from Ma. I cared about my little brother, but the little punk was asking for it. He wouldn’t shut up all night, he just kept bitching and moaning about what kids his age bitch and moan about.

I was surprised Eddie didn’t tell her what else had happened. Why he probably couldn’t sit straight. I had sworn Robbie up and down for what he did, but the guy didn’t need another offense. They’d lock him away for what he did.

“Eddie just hurt his pride, is all.”

I said with a smile, crushing the fag with my filthy sketchers.

“I know,”

She whispered, her eyes watering.

Somehow I doubted it was because of the smoke. Inside of me something snapped. I’ve had my bitch rages like anyone else, but this was different. It wasn’t a white hot, seething flip out. My chest felt cold and heavy, like a thousand bricks were crushing me.

It was the first time I felt it, confused I left Annette there alone. I could feel her eyes boring into the back of my skull.

I buried my face into my hands.