/ "and i have to speculate that god himself did make us into corresponding shapes like puzzle pieces from the clay" /
Michelle "Mickey" Hopper has a lot of problems. An alcoholic father ignoring the loss of his youngest daughter, her sister, Sarah...
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...Wednesday, October 31, 1984... girls on film - duran duran
After school that day, Mickey was skating back towards her house. Happening to be in the same direction as the suburbs, this meant she got to hang out with her favorite kids as they biked alongside her. They were dressed up as Ghostbusters that year which Mickey, along with everyone else, agreed was adorable. That didn't keep them from being annoying as hell.
"Oh my god, I swear if you don't stop singing that fucking jingle, Dustin, I'm gonna punch you in the face," Mickey said with as much anger as she could muster. Her lips were actively betraying her as they turned up in a smile.
Dustin steered his bike even closer to her, yelling the tune to that god-awful jingle right in her ear. She pushed the handlebars of the bike to turn him in the other direction. Mickey laughed as she watched Dustin frantically swerve so he wouldn't run into the other two boys.
Though the boys continued their laughter and fun, Mickey's slowed as she heard the sound of leaves blowing up behind them, accompanied by an obnoxious engine revving. As she looked backwards, below all the other noise, she could faintly hear "Wango Tango" blasting from the car stereo. Her eyes widened as they registered the fast-approaching Camaro with no apparent intention of slowing down to avoid the group.
"Get out of the road!" Mickey yelled, pushing Lucas' handlebars towards the grass edge of the street. The other boys followed suit. Mickey was barely fast enough, toppling over on the edge of the pavement before rolling into the grass.
The car swerved at the last second, the shadowy figure of a body launching across the front of the car to turn the steering wheel. Dustin and Mike ran to Mickey's side as she held her knee on the side of the road while Lucas looked at the California plates of the blue Camaro, growing smaller and smaller as it grew further away.
"MadMax," Lucas realized.
Mickey finally pushed up from the ground, running a few steps down the road after the long gone car. "Asshole! Fucking asshole!" she yelled, out of breath and voice cracking as she flicked off the uncaring driver. Finally, she sneered, "Billy fucking Hargrove."
...
Back at the Hopper cabin, Mickey sat down beside her prepared costume for the night, taking a moment to inspect her wound. There was a substantial rip in her baggy jeans, pale skin sticking out like a sore thumb amidst the dark navy. Her skin was ripped up, red-orange and irritated with white slashes of broken skin fracturing across it. Bright red blood shone through.
"Shelly?" Eleven asked, standing at the door of the small bedroom. "You're hurt."
"Oh, don't worry about it, kid." She forced a smile and patted the seat on the bed beside her. "Just fell while skating home today. It's no big deal, really."
Eleven nodded and looked over at the bright, pink cowboy boots of her costume. "You're going to a party."
"Yup. I'll make sure to tell you all about it when I get home, alright?"
