Bang! - Chapter 2

First of all, let me tell you some things about Philla, things that even I don’t know. Wait! How can I do that? Aahhh! A contradiction! Am I breaking some kind of literary rule here, by explaining things that my character wouldn’t possibly know? No matter.

Philla liked eighties music. Not specific bands – she didn’t prefer say Culture Club to Visage – but more the whole genre of it. She tuned in her clock radio so that the first sounds she would hear in the morning would be something eighties. It soothed her, made her feel nostalgic. Her obsession for eighties music didn’t creep into other aspects of life. She didn’t read eighties books, or wear eighties fashions. She wouldn’t, for instance, be seen dead in a ‘Frankie Says’ t-shirt and legwarmers. In the end though, she would have no say in the matter – for when it came, she would in fact be seen dead in the charred remains of a pink flannelette dressing gown and slippers.

What else? She was the sort of girl that would carry the duvet from the bed around the house with her. She would take it into the living room, where she would settle in front of the TV, and probably spill something on it. She would carry the duvet to the stairs, where she would cocoon herself whilst talking to her best friend on the phone. She would drag it with her when it was time to sit up to the table to eat. It wasn’t even that she was particularly cold or anything, it was more of a comfort thing. Security.

Philla liked to take control of her relationships. Not her friendships, but her proper male/female let’s-have-so-much-fun-that-we-mark-each-other’s-bodies type relationships. She would decide where things were going – whether it was time to get closer, more romantic, or whether it was time for them to fuck off. In nine cases out of ten, it was time to for them to fuck off. But then, that’s teenagers for you.

I’m telling you little things, things that aren’t necessarily relevant to the story. I’m painting you a mental picture of her, and this is the colouring-in bit. The easy bit that normally you should leave until last. I like it this way though, it almost makes me care for her even more. I’m just whetting your appetite, making you want to know her for yourself. She seems more real the more I tell you, doesn’t she?

The final interesting thing to know about Philla was this: she had an older sister, Isabelle. And this is the loose connection with me. I knew Isabelle, therefore I knew her younger sister Philla.

Except that I didn’t know her. Not yet.