Amusing Litle Tale From High School

Okay, it's been a maelstrom of crazy this past week. If you read my last post, you'll know we attended a production of Les Miserables, en famille, in the next town. And it was wonderful. We have so much talent in this area - honestly, the performances were on par with the many professional incarnations I've been lucky enough to view over the years. When 'Valjean' hit the final high note in Bring Him Home, I got chills. And as usual, got a bit teary when Valjean carked it at the end. My children have never seen the show, but we gave them a rudimentary outline of the plot, and what to expect. I knew my youngest, being a theatrical little soul, would enjoy it; my eldest, not at all a theatrical type, enjoyed it more than I thought he would.

Because I want to practise some writing, I might just tell a story from my school days. I was reminded of this legendary incident the other day. Well, I was in Year 11, and catching the school bus home. The back seat of the school bus was normally the province of the older kids, an unwritten rule that has been around ever since kids started getting the bus to school, but for some reason this particular warm afternoon, the little kids had hijacked it. Fair enough. So, a friend and I sat about 3/4 of the way from the driver's seat. The bus ambled along, as school buses are wont to do. My friend and I indulged in the chit-chat in which school students are wont to indulge. All of a sudden, an expression of abject and stunned disbelief clouded my friend's countenance, and she spluttered, 'Oh, shit!'; at the same time I was breathing in and my nostrils were assailed with the most ungodly, putrescent stench I have ever known. 'I think someone did!' I cried back. Being closest to the window, I stood up and practically pulled it apart in my zeal to open it.

My companion turned back and called out, 'Who farted?', and as the unholy presence travelled along the aisle, window after window was forced open, in the manner of dominoes being set to tumble.  The foul entity surpassed any frightful and ghostly horror that Stephen King could have conjured. One of the little kids who HADN'T sat down the back that day looked toward the vicinity of the culprit with an expression of such unfettered and contemptuous disgust, it saddened me; he looked like he would look as an adult because his innocence had been shattered, and no child should ever have to look like that.

I have never known a fart so virulent and vile, and the fact that it was produced by a child of about ten just adds to the dread. My friend wondered with trepidation what on earth that kid was going to be like as an adult.

Anyway, it's a funny story.

Oh, and my book Howling on a Concrete Moon has been printed, and should be available for sale soon. I will let you know, and provide a link to first chapter when the publisher's website wizards have organised one.