"Florante and Larry and The Last Days of Summer"

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

The crows perched on the branches of an old mango tree were having their morning concert. I wondered what the hell had them so excited. I would have risked getting late for school for a couple more minutes of post-sleep nap but these goddamn birds won't shut the fuck up. I grabbed my sling-shot and fired at them from my window. I was gonna murder some crows, no pun intended. The stone projectile filled with my murderous intent swirled into the damp cold morning air, travelling at supersonic, hit a branch and ricocheted off to where I stood. "Bloody hell!" I groaned as I took cover. The failure was so epic in proportion that even the crows didn't bother looking my way in an attempt to save me from embarrassment. In the end, I got all worked up and sleep abandoned me.

I slipped on my school uniform after I took a bath and left a clattered mess of unwashed clothes in my room. The self-absorbed radio deejay was rapping silly beat in the airwaves skrrrt skrrrting his dumbass on an impromptu rhyme he learned from Timbuktu school of deejay-ing where other sad middle-aged men undergoing mid-life crisis have found their purpose in life in the art of taking away the 'good' in the morning by spewing unsolicited life advice and some random rap shit.

"You're late for school,

That ain't cool,

You're the country's future,

Don't be a failure,

So get up early cos now it's eight thirty,

Check it out yo..."

Who hired this Eminem wannabe? Then he said something that hinted a little hope for his career's salvation if that's not too late yet, "Today's the 62nd death anniversary of Amelia Earhart. Let's spare some thoughts to the Lady of the Air with the song Amelia Earhart's Last Flight by Kinky Friedman. A sad melody was played on the radio and as the heat poured in from the windows and the sly clouds hung like wet clothes under the sun, I wondered what Amelia Earhart's last thoughts were before she plunged to her watery grave never to be seen again.

"A ship out on the ocean,

just a speck against the sky,

Amelia Earhart flying that sad day..."

It was a sad day indeed. That's the best I could hope for since I was still young. Young people do not have the license to be miserable, so I settle for sad. What's miserable was nana in the kitchen, smoking tobacco, at her usual spot near the furnace, staring at the flames as if they had all the answers in the world. Did she even catch a sleep last night? She never talked to me about her miseries, the things she saw behind the flames and stuff like that. At this point, she could either be miserable as hell or she could be fighting Balrogs with Gandalf beneath the old mountains of Moria.

"Are you hungry?" She asked, puffing rings of clear white smoke into the air.

"I'm late!"

"I can see that."

"Why didn't you wake me up?" I acted like I gave two cents about being late to lighten her mood.

"Isn't that what your alarm clock is for?"

"It's broken." I chugged a bottle of fresh milk from the fridge.

"It went off five times, just so you know."

"Should've gone six for good measure."

"What is it with you and sleep?" She asked.

"What is it with YOU and the smoke?"