Honey Buns

1

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Oh for God's sake, let me sleep.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

I groan whilst rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, and slowly get out of bed. Slapping the buttons on my alarm clock, I wonder what time it is. I peep an eye open at the green numbers. 2:47 am. What the hell is that tappi-

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

I drag myself towards my window and groggily draw back the curtain.
I swear to god if it's one of those Robertson boys from across the street I'm gonna lose it.

But it isn't.

"Why the fuck are you throwing stones at my window man, it's like 3 am?"

God, why don't people enjoy sleeping anymore?

The boy in my yard stays silent. His baby blue, worn out cap clamps down his brown curls. I glance at the cap and see a white Yankees logo on the front. His stance looks eager, as if he's ready to climb up my drainpipe any second. Is he high? Maybe a little drunk? It is early Saturday morning...

"Yo, if you're not going to say any-"

"I heard you can sing," he simply states.

"What?"

"If you sounded good back then, I can only imagine how you sound now," he continues. His voice sounds deep and smooth, velvety almost.

I try to see his face properly but it's just too dark.

"Who are you?" I ask, suddenly feeling self conscious. I glance down at what I'm wearing: an extremely large pink shirt with so many holes that a golf course would be jealous, and no pants. Great.

The boy is still quiet. He sits on the grass expectantly, waiting for, what I presume, an answer. After a few long seconds of him just sitting there, he begins to fiddle around with something in his backpack.

"Hey... dude? I'm sorry but if you're not gonna tell me who you are, I'm just gonna erm... head off to bed," I whisper-shout.

He continues to fiddle with his bag until he pulls out, what looks like, a book and pencil.

What is he doing?

I scrunch up my nose and touch my chin.

Is he just gonna write stuff down? What if he's recording everything I'm saying? Did he write down my address too? Oh fuck.

"Get the fuck off my property or I'm calling the cops."

A mix of panic and annoyance begins to seep through my voice. I hear him chuckle.

"If you think I'm here to kill you, I would've done it a while ago," he replies, slightly shaking his head.

"What's your name, man," I reply, kinda sick of the whole 'mysterious' act. I mean, who even goes to people's houses and says that they can sing. So fucking weird.

He goes silent again as if contemplating whether I'm trustworthy or not.

After what feels like an eternity, he says

"The names' Dre,".

Shoving the book and pencil into his bag, he swings it over his shoulder and without another word, turns around and makes his way out of my yard, onto the footpath. Just as he is about to cross the road, he yells over his shoulder.

"It was great seeing you again, honey buns!"

And with that, he throws a leg over his motorbike and speeds off, leaving me confused and alone with the cool night air.

—

So that's the first chapter of a book I have apparently decided to start writing. I'm new at this so my chapters will be short and sweet. It may seem like a drag but hang in there, the drama is coming. Any support whatsoever is tremendously appreciated!

Stay iridescent,
Tee.