The Great Fall of China

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
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Submitted: February 23, 2017

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Submitted: February 23, 2017

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The Great Fall of China

He needs to make this shot or it’s a case of “twenty-two, bust”, so close yet so far. All of Simon’s work would be for nothing. All the trials, all the qualifying, for nothing. All of those days when my best mate wasn’t at school, for nothing… I close my eyes and hope for the best. I can’t bear to watch. Each second I have my eyes closed feels like an hour. Finally I hear cheering. I look over at his opponent, Peter Cowan, I see people shaking his hand. “Oh no,” I think to myself, “It’s all over. Simon is going to be devastated.” I walk around to try and find Simon so I can try and ease the pain. I can’t find him anywhere. But I do see, in the celebrations, this idiot running around with shirt over his head and his chubby gut hanging out. I laugh to myself. I thought it must have been one of Peter’s cousins caught up in the moment. But then he takes the shirt of his head and I recognize the face. IT’S SIMON!!! He’s won. It all comes to me then and there, Peter was getting consolidation handshakes for losing.

“Scot!” Simon yells, “Scot Lawrence! I won.” I turn my head to reply to what must have been Simon yelling at me from about twenty gazillion billion metres away. I see this kid with a beaming smile a mile wide across his face and confetti through his hair.  When he came over to me he was busy raving about how he thought that his heart hadn’t beat a single time from when the mallet made contact with the ball to when the ball hit the wicket. And that he could hardly remember any of the other shots he had made besides that last one. Simon is a bit like. He over exaggerates E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G. If he got a little scratch he would be worried ‘it had pierced a vital blood vessel’ and that he would then bleed to death. He’s bloody funny though. In class, at home, on the footy ground, everywhere and anywhere, he would crack comedic gold. He is such a joy to be around. That’s why he’s my best mate.

On that Monday at school, Simon is top dog. All the guys are high-fiving him and all the girls are looking at him, talking about how they would want to be with him, I think… I don’t really know the sort of stuff the girls talk about. Simon had the day off work because, all through the day, he would have to inform people of his triumph. I think he must have changed the story at least five times. “It was a comeback for the ages,” was one of his stories. “My last shot I made, I made with my eyes closed,” was another one. But no matter what he said I know what happened, so I made fun of his stories all the walk home. He hated it… I LOVED IT.

When Simon was just about to enter his house, I asked him if I could come in and see his trophy up close and personal. He said, “Yeah sure, just come back in about half an hour when I’ve got changed and had something to eat.” That wasn’t a problem as I only lived one hundred metres down the road from him.

Half an hour later, I knocked on his door still nibbling on some ORIGINAL FLAVOURED Barbeque Shapes. (They have to be original flavoured. If they’re not original, they are not worth it) When I got let in by Mrs Simons I made my way to Simon’s room and when I entered, in the middle of the room stood, what I first thought was the Holy Grail. It was the trophy and it had this golden glow surrounding it as if it were an angel’s halo. It was at least three feet tall. On the top of it was a beautiful golden croquet mallet. It was a sight to behold.

“Hey Scot,” greeted Simon. “Here it is, all five kilos of her.”

‘Five kilos?’ I think to myself. That be made out of real gold and marble.

“Wanna drink?” asks Simon.

“Just water thanks,” I reply.

So Simon leaves the room and I’m all alone with this majestic beast. I pick it up to view all the details of the golden mallet. I wrap my hands around the handle of the mallet. And then it happens. The worst sound I could’ve hoped for. It was a soul-piercing crack. It cut through me like a demon freshly possessing a new victim. I think of running out of the house, but no, I can’t do that to Simon. Then an idea pops into my head. BLU TAC. I will use the BLU TAC off the Melbourne Vixen posters Simon has put up around his room. It’s all happening so quickly. I am working as fast as I can when the ever loudening footsteps of Simon is approaching the room. The shadow is at the door and I’ve done the worst possible job of putting it together. The mallet is at a ninety degree angle to the rest of the trophy so I pull it off and prepare to own up.

As Simon walks through the doorway I don’t have to own up as I can see the devastation on his face as the image of me holding the body of the trophy in one hand and the golden mallet in the other sinks into his now-shattered mind. Tears start streaming down his cheeks. I say sorry but he just stands there, silent. I walk into the living room to inform his coffee-sipping mother about what I have done. When the words of, “Um… I sort of just broke Simon’s trophy,” came from my mouth, the eyes of Mrs Simons that came after were blunt and sharp at the same time. It gave me goose bumps all over. To avoid the deathly stare I plonked down on the couch thinking that I’m a failure but it wasn’t over yet

There was a couple small cracks and a cat’s ear-piercing screech along with a swipe of a paw that put three claws into my backside. I had sat on Doritos, their beloved cat. In the whole scenario of sitting on the cat, be that a ginger cat on a white couch. Who doesn’t see a ranga cat on a white couch? Anyway, I jumped up in fright, and to help me get up quicker, I grabbed a shelf. Not just any shelf, it had to be the shelf that held Mr and Mrs 20th wedding anniversary china. One by one the pieces of china rolled down the freshly broke shelf. Fantastic, in a matter of two motions I’ve sat on the Simons’ family cat, Doritos, and broke Simon’s Mum and Dad’s wedding China. I look up at Mrs Simons as slowly as I can and my eyes get met with her arm pointing towards the door.

The walk to that door is as depleting as the walk back to the pavilion after you have lost your wicket as a batman. I know that I’ve lost a life-long friend in Simon. The realisation of that exact fact makes my gut churn like a washing machine. The walk home was the slowest, and longest, one hundred metres I’ve ever waked. I think of all the different ways I could’ve picked up the trophy to avoid those catastrophic events but that doesn’t stop every second word I say being a curse upon my name.

Owning up to Mum wasn’t that bad seeing as I already done it ten minutes ago, it was made embarrassing though because I had pull out several of the cat’s sharp claws out of my left buttock right in front of her. She didn’t show her disgust at me. It was one of those times where yelling and abuse wasn’t the form of discipline. This time it was the silent treatment. The worst way to get into trouble. It makes you feel guilt the way you would feel it after being forced to murder an innocent soul. I don’t think it was the fact that I broke Simon’s trophy, but more the fact that we had lost the closest of our family friends. I was grounded for three months and had to repay the Simons with eight months of my pocket money for the vet bill, new china and trophy repairs. Eight months of mowing the lawns. Eight months of cleaning, drying and putting away the dishes. Eight months of washing two cars a fortnight and eight months of clearing our lawns of dirty, smelly dog poo for nothing.

Tuesday was the worst day I’ve ever had at school. I was excluded from each and every group in my year level, even the weirdo group. The weirdos idolized Simon. It was like he was their god. It was quite disturbing actually. I had to sit and eat my lunch under what was known as ‘The Loner Tree’. There were bits of mouldy bread mixed through with the roots of the tree. There were ants all over the rotten banana peels. It also had a fresh puddle of vomit right beside the seat. It wasn’t there when I got there though. I only had to have one whiff of the putrid aroma and I was gone. Monday night’s spaghetti bolognaise sitting right next to me. To get the point into my head, no one came close to me, it was like I had a force field with a radius of fifty metres around me.. That didn’t stop the guys hurling apple cores at me though. I got the pleasure of picking out the little bits of apple from my ears and hair until halfway through the second recess and to top off the already horrible day, Facebook was filled with memes about ‘Scot the Catsitter’.

The walk home wasn’t too bad seeing as Simon and I were walking on the opposite sides of the road. Even though we were so far apart, you still could’ve cut the tension between us with a knife. Coincidentally each of us would glance over at one another at the exact same time. The guilt inside of me couldn’t have got much worse at those moments of synchronisation.

This whole scenario of being a loner kept going on and on for a couple weeks and each day that came around, the more I disliked Simon. The more he had an insignificant part in my life. All of the attention was getting to his head. I was surprised that he could walk through his front door, his head was that big. The only times I would look at him on the walks to and from school now was when I was chucking pebbles at him. I didn’t care if he was the most popular bloke in school, he was getting more and more of an arrogant idiot.

Three weeks on from the trophy/cat/china incident I have forgotten all about Simon even though everyone still loves him and we had some great times together. I’ve moved on and got a new best mate in Peter Cowan. We are already working towards next year’s title.


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