Song: God Save the Queen by The Sex Pistols (1977)
"Don't be told what you want. Don't be told what you need. There's no future. No future..."
Maeve's softly taps her feet against her pillow, keeping in beat with the song as she sings quietly to herself. Her head of coppery red curls bob from side to side while she lightly nods her head to the music. She quickly readjust her right ear bud then turns to the next page in her magazine. Her dark hazel eyes quickly scans the page before jumping onto the adjacent one with a disinterested hum. On the glossy paper a lithe woman stands in one of those uncomfortable model poses, her jaw jutted towards the camera and her long legs in a wide stance. With a buzzcut, bold black eyeliner, and glossy neon blue lips, Maeve thinks she looks quite striking. She's wearing an oversized leather jacket layered in colorful vintage looking buttons, safety pins and shiny silver chains dangling off her shoulders, with nothing underneath but a tiny black thong and stilt like silver studded boots.
"Wish I had the confidence to pull that off..." Maeve sighs under he breath.
She lightly taps her finger against the edge of the page in deep thought, being careful not to crease it. If Eleanor sees so much as a tear she would go mental, Maeve thinks to herself. She gently turns to the next page and amps up the music on her i pod.
"God save the queen. 'Cause tourist are money..." She hums to herself.
Although reluctantly, Eleanor lets Maeve borrow her magazines or what her mum calls "juvenile rubbish". Her favorite is a small zine Eleanor orders from the states called Underground Conversations. They feature punk fashion editorials and funny mini comics, ranging from political cartoons to three panel gags. Her current obsession is a one off series called The Acid Fuckers. It's about a zombie, a vampire, and a ghost who are all in a punk rock band together in the ninth circle of hell, trying to claw their way out one hit song at a time. Something about the crude drawings and zany humor gets the occasional giggle out of her. A small smile pulls at the ends of Maeve's lips. Her mum would probably rather her read something by Jane Austen or Charlotte Bronte or any other high brow self proclaimed literary "classics". Instead, she's reading some "juvenile rubbish" called the Acid Fuckers. Currently giggling at the Vampire named Aliester, sucking the blood from his human girlfriend's tampon. There's irony in there somewhere.
Suddenly a knock rapts from her door, followed by a brisk, "Maeve dear, I'm coming in."
Maeve can only quickly stuff the magazine under her covers before her mum swings the door open, barging into her room.
"Did you not hear me calling you from downstairs?" Her mum's hand is perched on her hips, their permanent resting place whenever she's miffed or running late. Which is probably both right now.
"Um..no?" Maeve responds sheepishly.
Her mum narrows her deep hickory eyes at her and marches over to her bed, quickly snatching up her i pod. She glances at the screen then purses her red lips. "No wonder you didn't hear me, you were listening to this crap again. "
Maeve rolls her eyes. "Mum please-"
"Don't mum please me. What you should be listening to is Rieding's Concerto Opus number thirty six for the recital you have next week. Remember?" Her voice is as thick and stern as it always is and Maeve can't help but let out a small sigh.
"Yes. I remember." She mutters.
Satisfied with her response her mum gently hands back her pink i pod. "Oh and dear you shouldn't be laying on your bed in those clothes, they'll wrinkle. I just got them delivered from the cleaners the other day. Up you go."
YOU ARE READING
The Differences Between a Violin and a Guitar
Fiksi Penggemar"Maeve Jennings." "Maeve." He says as if trying to figure out how her name felt on his tongue. He cocks his head to the side and gives her a sideways glance. "A bit boring, innit?" "Well...my one friend calls me MJ, although no one else really does...
