War/Peace. Matthew Vandenberg
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(2009). Wil Anderson: Wilosophy.
2 Obama, B. (2010). Text of President's and Vice President's Kokomo Remarks. Inside INdiana Business / The White House. Retrieved December 22, 2010 [BUT NOTE THAT THE SPEECH WAS IN NOVEMBER] http://www.insideindianabusiness.com/newsitem.asp?ID=44857
3 *D. O. A. (Death of Autotune) – Jay Z
4 **Turner, S. (2009, April) 10:10pm 16 April 2009.
5 Californication – Red Hot Chilli Peppers
FLASHBACK: SHAUN TURNER - 10:10pm - April 16 - 2009
'So where are we actually going?' I ask, turning around in my seat so that I can peer out the window behind me. Being night, this hardly serves any purpose.
'You'll see,' Alana says. 'What - you don't trust me, Goth boy?'
'I can't believe I've kept this on,' I say, pointing to my face. 'I swear: if we weren't going somewhere where I've never been before then I wouldn't even consider wearing this.'
'It looks good on me don't it?' Alana asks. Before I can answer she jumps up and grabs onto one of the overhead hand rails on the train and swings her legs up so that they grab - with the joints - the bar and grasp it tightly. She dangles - hands free - her head facing me and inches from mine. 'Even when I'm upside-down?'
'It looks fine on you. But you're a girl.'
'Girl. Boy. What's it all mean? We're all the same. We're all bi as well.'
'What?' I say.
'We're all bi-sexual. Just some of us are too scared to admit it.'
'You're gay?' I ask.
'Bi,' Alana replies. 'And so are you. Admit it. They'll be gay guys where we're going tonight. Not too many, but some. You want me to introduce you.'
'I ain't gay,' I say. 'And you just said that everyone's bisexual. So why'd you say there won't be too many gay guys?'
'Firstly,' - Alana flips around and lets herself down from the pole - 'some people enjoy the label gay and so we call 'em gay, and secondly, there will actually only be a few gay or bi - or straight or whatever you want to call them - guys there. It's pretty much feminine territory. That's why I insisted you keep your make-up on. You said yourself: you look like me. And I think you get a little bit of pleasure out of my identity don't you?'
'Ha. Well - it's different.'
'This is the stop,' Alana says.
Suddenly, she cups her hands over my eyes.
'What are you doing?' I ask.
'Jump forward when I say jump,' Alana says, pushing me in front of her. 'Now!'
I jump forward and land hard on the platform with my feet.
'What was that for? Aren't you gonna take your hands off my face?'
'Nup,' Alana says, leading me along the platform quickly. 'You're not supposed to be here. And I don't want you coming here without me one day and getting yourself fucked up badly. After all, you're just 14!'
'You're just 3 years older than I am,' I protest. 'C'mon, uncap the eyes already!'
'No,' Alana insists. Just keep walking. It's all flat ground to where we're going. And you didn't seem to mind closing your eyes when I was putting your make-up on.'
'Speaking of that,' I say. 'Won't you be smudging it now?'
'Don't matter. Where we're going, I doubt anyone will have a clean face.'
'Where?' I ask, in vain.
'5 minutes,' Alana stresses. 'Just 5, 4 and a half minutes and we'll be there.'
I sway from side to side, trapped in between the two hands of hers that cup my eyes. Every now and then I almost stumble but she manages to steady me. And every time she does I feel her breasts rub my back. They feel as firm as rubber balls, massaging my back far better than any gimmicky glass turtle or the like could. And every time this happens I want to turn around and grab them or lay my head back into them, obediently keeping my eyes closed. But of course I don't. Soon - perhaps under the guise of simply ensuring I remain supported on my blind trip through the night streets of nowhere - Alana decides to keep her breasts firmly pressed into my back. I feel like I'm lying down on the most comfortable mattress imaginable. A television commercial - the one where a woman says bellísimo after lying down in bed - flashes through my mind, but the woman is replaced by Alana, and Alana is lying beneath me. I can feel her heart throbbing now, and her breath on my neck. These sensations are so intense that I hardly notice the noise coming from no more than 100 metres away.
'Do you hear that?' Alana asks, her breath beating my neck so fiercely that I almost believe I would be able to make out what she is saying through that feeling alone.
'Yeah,' I reply. 'What is it?'
'Look for yourself,' Alana says, finally uncovering my eyes.
In front of me is a large shed. It looks like it was abandoned long ago. And the people in there are certainly taking advantage of this. The music is so loud now. I must have had my ears blocked, along with my eyesight, when Alana had me cupped. But music isn't all I can hear: shouting, large calls of go! go!, and some screams also mediate from the shed, like fleeing ravens from a predator that doesn't want to play with them. I try to turn around to look at Alana and at the path we took to get here but Alana slaps me quickly.
'Go on inside,' Alana says. 'And don't worry. You're won't be getting involved. We're just here to watch.'
'Watch what?' I ask, a little frightened - but excited nonetheless.
'You say you ain't gay?' Alana asks.
'Yeah,' I say, walking towards the shed.
'Then you'll like this.'
I enter the shed slowly and find myself immediately in the midst of a large crowd.
'Shit!' I say.
'Just shove your way through,' Alana says, pushing me. 'That's the way!'
'Yeah!' someone shouts. 'Use your teeth. On the tongue! Get the tongue!'
I can't see what's going on. The crowd in front of me is too great. For a minute I think I'm at a football match. That is until I glance up and around and notice that the shed I'm standing in is only a little larger than my back yard.
'I can't see a thing!' I yell, before grabbing onto Alana's arm. 'Lead me through.'
'Sure,' Alana says, using some elbows to wedge several people out of our way. 'Can you smell that?'
'Yeah,' I say. 'What is it?'
'Blood and sweat!' Alana yells out. Then she pushes me to the front of the crowd. I see what everyone's here for. And I see where most of the yelling is coming from. Two women, in a bath of mud, are literally clawing one another. Each have massive scratches all over her body.
'I hate to say this,' Alana says, after pulling me back by my left shoulder and bringing her mouth close to my ear, 'but the only way I can describe this is by using the cliche examples of Tyler's fights in that movie Fight Club. This is pretty much just like that. But you can just watch if you like, you don't have to join in. In fact, you can't. It's only for girls and women.'
'Are they ok?' I ask, not taking my eyes of the two fighters. I'm only one metre away and I can feel the mud splashing onto my skin every time one of the women pummels the other into the ground. But - for some strange reason - I find myself kneeing down almost immediately. And I lean a little closer.
'They'll stop after five,' Alana says. 'They come here for that stench. You smell it? The mixture of blood and sweat from a beautiful, worked, female body. It's intoxicating don't you think?'
I nod silently, as though a voiceless approval is not as significant