14 February 2016
684 Words
I’ve lost everything. My ranch. My home. My property. My animals. EVERYTHING. In just less than two weeks since the Whitercolls left, I was forcefully removed from my ranch by some no-good, hard-knobbin’ whacks who work for the gov, treated like a prisoner while they asked me so many questions in a stone-cold room, and then I was told to go back to me ranch to collect all my belongings and move to this god-forsaken place. WHAT? This… this “Whietrcoll’s Texan Old Folks Home”. And I thought I never hafta see my guests’ city-slickin’ faces EVER AGAIN!!! And they moved me two states across from Arizona to this strange, foreign, overpopulated land that has a little problem with gun control. Well, it’s not totally foreign to me — I’ve heard things about the Lone Star State. But most of ‘em are not so nice things that would make me rather DIE than to live ‘ere.
So here I am in this slum of a building, writing in me journal surrounded by four boring, lifeless wooden walls of the place known as “my new bedroom”. UGH! Even the bed is kinds rough. It feels like I’m Goldilocks sleepin’ in Papa Bear’s too-hard bed! Lemme just —
Ok. Much better now. Just needed to remove one of the bed sheet layers. I’m tired. And sad. No, MISERABLE. When they let me go back to my ranch to get my things, I didn’t even have the heart to take EVERYTHING along with me. So now I have just a few clothes, my toothbrush, toothpaste and floss, a photo album of me and my old mates from the Arizonian Archaeology Club (especially pics of me and Chief. Man, do I miss that bloke something bad), my laptop, phone and chargers, some extra batteries, some foods, my earphones, and last but not least, my favourite music album, “WITH THE BEATLES” that I got as a weeny lad back in the 60’s. I ain’t gonna start unpacking now just in case by some miracle I can return to my ranch and find it left alone. Now I have no idea why the gov wants me land so badly (or how they even know about my land in the first place — it’s so bloody remote in Arizona!) but everything I left there — memories, things, parts of my soul and all, will be knocked down to smithereens and there’s nothin’ I can do bout it.
RANDY.
The lil’ lassie Serafina just walked into my room and tried to cheer me up. She offered to draw pictures of my my favourite old bands and musicians and hang them up on my walls as posters. (I HONESTLY could use a lil more colour in this dull, dungeon-like place here! If I’m gonna be forced to live in this dump forever, I might as well liven it up the ol’ Randy way!) She also exchanged an album of hers with my “With The Beatles”. Her favourite band is a group of young lads called “One Direction”. One of their songs was playin’ on the radio downstairs while we were exchangin’, and not bad, I must say. i like the guitar chord progression in that song. Serafina told me that song is in the album, and I can listen to it now whenever I feel bad.
“With The Beatles” (and pretty much EVERYTHING that I saved from me ranch’s cruel fate) is not something I would simply give away to a kid, let alone a kid who knows NOTHING about the Beatles. But I guess I have nothing left to lose now, so... ok.
“Happy” Valentines’ Day to a single ol’ man named Randy McClarence who has and wants NOTHING to do with this yet-another-over-commercialised event.
RANDY.
- Writer
