Perception

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-eight

BACK OFF! You're standing in my aura.

Unknown

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When I entered the camp I was still confused. How could anyone possibly believe they were Jesus? Michael Jackson I could understand, there was a guy on Green Street that did a great rendition of Thriller complete with dance steps. But who in their right mind would want to be Jesus, the foot ware alone would put me off; then again I suppose if you thought your Jesus then you’re obviously not in your right mind? Why is it so many street nutters turn religious? I could name seven of the top of my head without a sweat, well six now that the Vicar was dead. In American they’re all obsessed with alien probes and the CIA mind taps, I could do with a little tin foil beanie right about now.

    “Amy!” Marks joyful shout broke my rumination, “Your back!”

    Running up to me he locked his arms around my waist, burying his head under my shoulder. Acting as if I had been away a whole year rather then just a few hours.

    “Is that what I am?” Stating the obvious while gently trying to loosen his grip. “Look kid, I’m glad to see you too but that’s enough, it’s time to let go.” Squirming I pushed and wiggled but his death grip didn’t loosened. “Petra!” I finally screamed fighting against panic clawing it’s way up my throat.

     She was standing close to one of the bin fires in both her hands she held a tin cup up close to her smiling face, the steam from the cup wafted up into the darkness. She turned to face me and her smile fell. I guess the sight of me trapped in Marks embrace, screaming my head off with shopping bag was too much for her. Dropping her cup she raced over.

     “There now Covey. Told you she'd be back, now didn' I?” She said bending over so her face was level with his, “It ain’t like she meant to trot off alone without a by your leave.” Her eyes flared as she spoke, highlighting her disapproval.

     He didn’t respond.

    “This is your own bleedin’ fault you know,” Petra muttered looking up over Marks head at me. Looking back down she gentled her tone. “Give over Covey, you knows how Amy’s allergic ta touching.”

     He shook his head against my chest. Petra took one of his arms, trying to pull it away.

    “Look you here little brat,” I said pushing against his shoulders, “your invading my personal space.”

    “Where’d you get to anyways?” Petra hissed, moving around to grab his waist.

    “I went out. It’s been known to happen and I got fruit.” Then looking down at Mark I whispered conspiratorially, “You like peaches don’t you Mark? Let go and I’ll give you Petra’s share.”

    “You went to see Haka on your tod? You is Bonkers love -“

   “Mummy and Daddy shouldn’t fight in front of the children. It sets a bad example.” I mocked, cutting her off, “Especially when one of them is talking in a horrible accent.”

    “Oi, Muckers.” Petra yelled over her shoulder towards the people still standing around the fire, “Stop filling your boots and help would ya.”

    Tipping my face up to the cloudy night sky I silently begged to any fictional deity who happens to be listening to please make her stop.