This is for the competition of Feral Youth. You need to write a chapter of a book with a phonetic-style first person voice.

Ma name is Portia Meth and I live in Cape Town, South Africa. Guess am' lucky to be so wealthy in such a supposedly poor country but I know my family has secrets. There is more too life than the world I know of home schooling and blue skies and sparkling oceans. More to life than a box of the only things I know of ma childhood.
I want to explore but first, I must find out what my family has been hiding for all these years...


1. More Than Just The Villa

The Indian Ocean is a sparkling ultramarine as the sun beats down at the crack of dawn. Sometimes I cannot deem it was only this time last year that my parents were found dead by tha Cape Point. The Cape of Good Hope.

Every single night I experience the sound of loud gun shots, the howl of my Ma, the pleading of my Pa and then the dead air after the nightmare ends. Then, I wake up dazzled with sweat in the night, forehead gleaming and fingers trembling.

Tannie moved me away from the centre of Cape Town after that and to the bottom of Table Mountain where she lived. Our villa is a modest residence with a mint-green, slate roof and a veranda round the back. There is a swimming pool too but Tannie says she won’t let me swim in it in case I drown one mornin'. I am also not allowed into the garden until she wakes up. But every morning, without her knowing, I creep down there. I need fresh air from the claustrophobic cage in which she keeps me as a pet.

It was one evenin' when it happened. It was Ma and Pa's anniversary and they told me they was off on an evenin' stroll down Cape Point. It was ever so romantic, me watching them setting off into tha sunset, arms hooked like they were as close as lock and key.

It was the danger of being in such an area in the evenin'. Ma and Pa were proper street wise; having lived in Cape Town since I was a baby and being half South-African, we knew tha streets. They didn't expect the man to find them. He tried to shoot them but Pa put Ma behind his back and tried to reason with tha man. Tha man didn't care though... he was living in the South-African poverty stricken areas -the shanty towns.

He shot Pa first and then chucked him in the ocean before Ma died of shock. I could hear Pa's screams as he fell down the cliff edge, and, witnessing it from my terrace, I watched his body thunder down the cliff... his body turning into a mess of ruptured flesh and brewed bones.

Ma then stood vulnerably, shoulders shaking and her eyes quivering.  She collapsed as her knees buckled. However, all my anger and shock and confusion sent adrenaline rushing through my blood stream at 100 miles an hour. 

I jumped off the terrace and everything fell in slow motion. I could see the side of my blue and yellow painted city house rushing past me, the bars on the windows ... a blur of vertical lines. I fell onto tha grass hearing what felt like an ear piercing crunch in ma shin. I had broken ma leg but I had to save Ma and so I ran, dragging my dead leg behind me, hearing tha wails and the oceans waves consuming my Pa's body...

I took Pa's gun but I couldn't shoot. I don't believe in violence. The last three seconds of my Ma' and the killer's life went as slow as watching paint dry. I looked the man in the eye :his evil eye. How could God invent such a man and how could he live with himself with God lookin' over him? The man knew suddenly what he had done and what the law of South Africa would give him after his crimes! He then put the gun to his skull and I watched his body collapse as I grabbed onto Ma as the killer tumbled to the ground.

Ma took my arm and with a squeeze of her fingers, her warm lips pressed against my hand. I shut my eyes, and when I opened dem' again I felt the pressure leave my ma's lips and I could feel nothing. Her body went weak and her skin was deathly pale ...her eyes looking straight into the horizon. It was like she wanted to tell me that there was something there and every since then I have believed that I would find something on that horizon and she would be there. Pa at her hip. Hand in hand like lock and key again.

Suddenly I am awake again from the horrific daydream that was my life. Something alarms me from behind the swimming pool... on the veranda. The familiar shuffle of slippers and the sound of milk swishing in a china cup.

Tannie... oh crap.

"Ja, Tannie. I hear you." I whisper, ma fingers clenched around the white fencing which stops me from falling into the sea.

She sighs.

"Ja, Portia, I hear you too. I hear you from six o'clock in tha mornin'. Don't think you get anything past old Tannie, eh?" she chuckles, her old fingers pouring the fresh milk into a cup for me.

I snuffle.

Tannie knows me too well. She educates me at home and only lets me leave the house if I want to visit Ouma Fiona. Ouma means Granny -that's somethin' Tannie taught me as a small child. Anyway, I'd rather eat a field of Protea flowers for three years than visit Ouma Fiona.

I grab the cup of milk and let the cold liquid flush into my warm mouth and down my dry throat.

But Tannie's grey eyes glare at me and her wrinkled fingers are holding her body for support.

"I know why you do this. This urge to be set free thing. Ouma said your ma did it too. It's because you are suffocated."


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