In my old life before my parents went to war, I had friends, well,that's what it felt like at the time.There were people out there who I could share a joke with, people who would ask me for advice, people that i could depend on. But i guess i was always different. I mean i loved rock and roll, the real stuff, not the techno shit or the pointless crooning! I had more muscles than most guys, but i wasn't "thin" and i wore leather! I was me , and i didn't see what was wrong with that, but teenage girls have their own way of dealing with outsiders.I was kicked out of my group, very much like "Murial's Wedding".Ha!I thought my life was over. How could i predict the events that would soon follow?
My mum and my dad, ironically born on the same day, were drafted into the war. My sister, Fizzie as i called her, and i went to live with auntie Rita "Mama" and her collective family, Hell's Hounds. It was there that i thought i'd found my place in life, my home and my family. I got to do what i always loved -riding my motorbike- on a daily basis and i met people just like me, leather wearing rockers and muscular rollers who were all willing to accept me into their family. I had my best friend Bernie, a shed full of unimaginable crap for my bike,and i didn't have the pressure to be perfect being stacked on top of me! Life was good, it is all too vivid now and it stings.
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