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This story is a horrifying, gut-wrenching, blood-curdling and freakish tale with the recurring theme of vampire romance. Just kidding, Stephanie Meyers is obviously very light-headed.
While walking up to your bedroom, the crunching of golden leaves under your feet, the sludge-like consistency of phlegm between your toes or the zapping of unstable electric wires painfully brushing against your shoulders is unexpected. In a little cottage by a lighthouse in a suburb of Brisbane, lived a small, impish woman by the name of Julia, who despite the mention did not have this happen to her. Neither did this happen to her brother, who this narrative is based on.
About 6 foot 2, brown hair, failing real estate agent and forever enthusiast of star-gazing, lame YouTube videos and embezzlement of siblings and other family members, Julia’s brother Howard Schloss considered himself a loser. I can tell you for sure, people definitely called him that. Howard had just moved out of his parent’s home in St Lucia, 13 ½ years on average after everyone else in his year at his old school. Howard shared his new (old) apartment with two other guys, the first of which was a rather large Bosnian house cleaner and the second a Chinese undergrad at UQ, the sort of guy that could pour boiling water down your throat and laugh. Stereotypically ironic, the Chinese, named Wang-Chi, knew Kung-Fu.
This story is a teary one. It’s a story of loss, love and occasional misfortune brought on by drinking alcohol, and it all started in Howard’s living room. Howard walked into the room via a hole ripped into the asbestos wall. Sitting in his favourite Danish style wooden chair was the hulky Bosnian house cleaner, Zlatan.
“You sitting in my chair Zlatan,” said Howard angrily, which for poor Howard seemed to sound quite calm.
“Uh yes my good friend,” Zlatan roared in a heavily accented voice, “I have intended to sit in your chair for quite a long time now.”
“Care to explain?” replied Howard.
“You see, I have also been meaning to talk to you like this. You’ll have to hire my room out, I’m leaving.”
And as suddenly as the conversation had started, it had finished. Zlatan had walked out of the door of Howard’s apartment, leaving only his beloved cleaning products, imported from the south of France. Howard stared at the door the Bosnian had just slammed. The blithering idiot had not paid his rent for that month.
The next day was Tuesday. Howard woke up to the pelting of heavy rain on his bedside window. He looked to his bedside table to see his bedside stereo/clock. His bedside stereo/clock was not on, which annoyed Howard. Howard attempted to flick on the bedside lamp. Nothing happened, as Edmond, the Chinese undergrad, had been conducting studies for a Time Travel assignment which involved using the apartment’s electricty. So began a miserable Tuesday for Howard Schloss.
By 9:00AM, Howard was trudging to his office job at Joop and Joop Real Estate, having no clue what actual time it was. He entered his office and began designing an advertisement for his spare room. Howard’s eyes drifted from the computer screen to out the window, and upon his eyes strayed a young female of extraordinary beauty and chic, spare the braces.
Howard stared.
The girl stared back. She smiled.
Howard was embarrassed.
‘What a horrible thing is eye-sex,’ thought Howard.