Killing Keats

Much Ado About Burning

Transitions are a part of life. A part of life that you can accept or a part of life that you can run away from before it finally catches up with you. It was that Summer that Celia, Richard and Morrissey were facing their biggest transition yet. Going from Year 10 to Year 11. They'd heard the horror stories. The stress of exams, having no free time, the members of the opposite sex only getting five percent better looking and the strange urges to listen to Backstreet Boys on repeat.

Unluckily they had to suck it up and enjoy the Summer holidays while they had them.

It was three days in. They were already bored.

Celia and Richard were cuddling in the hot Summer heat. Morrissey was ignoring the two lovebirds he had just met. He was playing random chords on his guitar hoping for some inspiration or the urge to do something.

"Do you mind if I use your barbecue?" someone asked.

The three of them looked up in unison. Celia and Richard shook their heads, Morrissey was thinking about the two stereotypical guy things.

1) Sex- Her sex appeal was about 6/10. If she was a little more confident the rating may have been boosted. Then he soon realised that he knew her.

2) Food- Would it be inappropriate to ask for a portion of whatever she was cooking?

Instead of voicing his opinions he shook his head. She turned on the gas.

It clicked in Morrissey's mind, he knew where she was from but he only knew her by one name. "Hey, Dickinson what are you cooking?"

"You...You can call me Imogen. Dickinson's only for work," she said. Her heart stopped racing after a minute.

"I think I'd be more comfortable with that," he said, completely deadpanned. "Morrissey, by the way."

Imogen had forgotten his name. She knew it was a musician but was tossing up between Robert Plant and the lead singer of Joy Division.

"Is that your actual name or just something people call you?" Celia asked.

"I hate my name and everything that is associated with it. If you could why wouldn't you change your name to the king of angst?" Morrissey said. "My job also dictates that my name tag must bear the name of a famous musician or singer."

"And you?" Celia asked.

Imogen was taken aback. She only wanted to use their barbecue. She didn't want to be interrogated about her name tag at the bookstore. "I work at the same shopping centre and needed a writer or poet for my name tag. Dickinson is my favourite poet," Imogen explained, softly.

Maybe she should have picked another barbecue. One that mothers and their kids were sitting at. Why did she decided that people her own age wouldn't be as scary? They were scarier. They were judgmental.

The barbecue was ready. The blue flames flickered. Her plan was wacky and strange but it would work.

Imogen reached into her bag. She pulled out a battered book. She placed it on the barbecue. She took a pair of tongs out of her bag. The corners started to blacken.

Celia broke out of Richard's arms. She ran to the barbecue. She shoved Imogen out of the way and took advantage of her shock to wrench the pair of tongs out of her grip. She nudged the book onto the brick wall surrounding the barbecue. She picked the book up and hit it against the wall, smouldering the flames.

Celia then threw it to Richard who went to catch it. It flew in between his arms as he launched to catch it but fell against the uneven wooden table.

He sighed before getting off the bench to pick it up. Dusting off the cover, he put it behind his back. Celia came to his side yet he refused to relinquish the book. Celia climbed onto the bench before jumping on his back. He dropped the book to accommodate the thin girl's weight.