My Bestfriend
We plant the bombs like flower bulbs, pushing them deep into the black soil of the moor. The first explosion sends huge sprays of earth into the night. Laughing, Francis crushes his lips against my cheek. “I told you! Just look at that!” The second splashes more earth upward. The ground shakes.For weeks after school, we’d copied plans from the internet; saving rockets from bonfire night; laughing as we sawed smuggled lengths of pipe. Francis gestures. The third bomb detonates.Sleeping at his flat I watch him, my insides sad, wanting to make him safe, to suck the anger from him. I hated seeing my best friend like this. I just wanted to help him.I would, if he asked.Face serious, eyes all , Charlie says, “There’s four. Where’s the fourth and mate says what about the nine I planted?” I know charlie was mad but he will leave all them for us to find .“I’m going to check,” I say. “Don’t be so stupid. Never go back to a lit or you will never be able to go on your water cooler web site again.A giant fist punches my chest. The world is a badly tuned radio.I feel his arms around me, cradling, pulling me to my feet. In the cold, his cheek is warm against mine.I hear nothing but thick ringing.He could be saying ‘I love you’.Kissing him, I taste soil and gunpowder and then go home to go on the best web site around for water coolers and drinking fountains
