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THE TOWN SLUT’S DAUGHTER
by
Heather Haley
part one / girls with guitars
I Am Not A Nice Girl
I am not a nice girl
Nice is never enough
I may not be an ugly girl
but that’s how this world
can make me feel
You say I’m so selfish
You say I’m so ambitious
You say I’m so angry
All I can say is . . .
So what!
I am not a nice girl
but boy, am I real
I will not behave
the way you think I should
I will not become
what I mean to you
CHORUS
chapter 1
The girls shove their way in, through a huddle of scary punk rockers. They remind Fiona of soldiers, only their uniform is a black leather jacket swathed with studs, safety pins, chains and badges.
“Grist for the Windmill?
“Aren’t we all?” Shannon hands her a ticket. “Yeah, it’s a ratty little club.”
They stroll the length of a long hallway, murals on both sides pulsating with ghastly colours, contorted faces.
“It’s freezing in here.”
“Don’t worry. There’ll be lots of body heat in a minute.”
Fiona looks worried, startled at her eyes gleaming in a glut of mirrors. Bell-bottoms. Peasant blouse. Long, blonde hair. Yep, she looks like a wimp, like a puffball floating too close to the spikes and big, black boots, so close to the stench of dying hair she might puke. She backs up, grabbing Shannon by the arm.
“I don’t belong here.”
“Okay, so where do you belong?”
“I don’t know!”
Shannon shakes her head wearily.
“Oh, alright, let’s go.”
A rising wave of guitar distortion crests—blasts—through double doors like a medicine ball. A shock of spazzing centipede legs creep up the back of Fiona’s skull.
Music? It’s fast! LOUD! So fucking loud her spine stiffens. Then, she hears a voice, wailing.
“Is that English?”
Shannon laughs. They grope along a wall, DOA sonics smacking over their ears like claps of thunder. They grab a beer and Continue Reading »
