HOME ALONE, PAUL DID ‘NOT’ HAVE A NAP IN THE HOT AFTERNOON. He switched-on the air-con's central-system to cool the house and put on a pot of hot coffee. Paul decided to do his school homework – and ‘not’ to worry…

… about ‘his’ girlfriend-problem…

At the IKEA table, he put-on his earphones to the music of Gorillaz’ ‘Clint Eastwood’ – and decided to do the ‘simpler’ of the subject, which was history, as Mr Alexzander Hull would-be ‘testing’ them on Monday.

As simple as he thought – he was frustrated that he had a bad memory with the historical dates-of-events…

‘… how-come Alicia ‘could’ remember them – and even Mr Hull said – she has a ‘photographic’ memory when it comes to historic-numbers… so, am I dyslexic…?

‘… I ‘have’ the mental capacity that I could ‘recall’ 60% of my dream-in-a-dream – but ‘not’ my History’s dates of events…?

‘… and, why can’t Jane TOO REMEMBER ‘ANYTHING’ when – she entered into the portal at the Dark-tower…?

Paul was soon ‘daydreaming’ of his recent OBE mission with Jane – until…

… a ‘bad-vibe’ hit him – Paul then cursed…

‘It’s Peter bloody ‘MAKING-OUT’ with his girlfriend somewhere…!’

The ‘aroused’ Paul was ‘done’ with his history homework, for the day – he levitated fast…

… to the bathroom – to have a cold shower.

<><>

JANE TOO WOKE UP with a wet-dream – that she was making out with her red-beacon, Peter. She ‘felt’ disgusted of the thought…

… but she ‘blamed’ it ON THE INCUBUS – that was currently in-possession of Peter’s soul – of ‘their’ 3rd member of the Cursed-trio…

… ‘remembering’ the same nefarious creature with a long snaky-winding pointed tail, with Peter’s facial likeness, in Perthland – that ‘ravished’ her teen-self in-her-sleep – when the blind-tween girl’s aura went into an OBE astral state, in that different-realm.

The still-dreamy blind-girl sat on her Queen-sized bed, calling-out…

“Boyyo, what is the time now?”

“It is 6:33 PM.”

“I’m late for dinner – why you did ‘not’ alert me?”

“You did ‘not’ notify-nor-set me to do so, Jane…”

“Never-mind…”

-O-

In her bathroom, the blind-girl thought of her boyfriend as she took a warm shower…

‘… should I TELL PAUL about ‘this’ incubus’ dream…?’

She decided ‘NOT’ TO…

… first of all, she was embarrassed and guilty of the wet-dream itself…

… secondly, if she ‘told’ – there might-be a ‘confrontation’ @the house of Walker…

… if Paul ‘provoked’ Peter – and, create an ‘imbalance’…

… thirdly, since the CURSED-TRIO ‘SHARED’ their dreams-and-emotions collectively – Paul ‘should’ know the ‘rules’ of the curse – and ‘react’ accordingly…

Jane finished showering, and dresses in her sporting-bra in the bathroom – as she slipped into her pink ‘Hello Kitty’ t-shirt and shorts…

… she then left her bedroom without her AI device – but opt to use her retractable baton-walking-stick. She rushed down the ‘familiar’ staircase, to have her dinner…

-O-

Jane arrived late at the dining table – her mother and step-brother had finished eating. In the kitchen, her mother Shelley was doing the dishes in the kitchen – while Samuel was still at the dining table, in his high-baby stool watching his-movie on the electronic tablet.

The blind-girl sat in her chair at the table – opposite to Samuel’s…

… the smell of Pancit Canton was in her-plate – which was one of her favourite dishes…

… that Lola had prepared ‘after’ she came-in ‘half-a-day,’ to clean-up their newly renovated house.

The delicious noodle had gone-warm – but the hungry Jane was enjoying forkful of it – until the chuckling Samuel’s call distracted her, lifting up his tablet…

“Jane, look-look… Lying King, look…”

As she ate, she consistently acknowledged him and his baby-talk story-telling… recalling…

‘… it’s Lion King ‘now’ – no ‘more’ Jungle book – and, no ‘more’ too…

‘… of the Popobawa-the-rapper in Perthland…?’

Jane chuckled along to her brother’s baby-talk – and, the blind sister laughed out loud – when he sang along to the ‘Hakuna Matata’ theme-song of the movie…

Sighing in bonding love-awe, the blind-big sister babbled her ‘own’ baby-talk…

“… my sweet Baby-Yoda… I love you, Jaheem – since I first time I held you as a tiny baby, during our visit to Kenya… and on the plane back to Perth, you slept on my lap too – I hope that we someday, can go back to your motherland, Kenya – and Jaheem – we go exploring in safari adventures over there, and meet your Lion King.”

The doctor-mother came out of the kitchen – and loudly interrupted…

“Oii-Jane, stop confusing him – CALL HIM SAMUEL, and ‘not’ his other-name…

… it was the first time the mother-daughter SPOKE – EVER SINCE ‘BOTH’ were ‘not’ in-speaking terms, for a fortnight…

“… but Mummy… isn’t Jaheem his name too…?”

“What!!? Are you trying to be ‘racist’ to your ‘own’ brother?”

“… huh… how am I a ‘racist’…?”

“You belittle him when you call him by ‘that’ name – as your white-privilege of being born here in Australia, and now have an adopted black-brother and you ‘looking-down’ at him – by refusing to call him by his Christian name…”

“I call him Jaheem because I don’t want my dear-brother in future to ‘lose’ his self-identity, while growing-up in a white-family household – he ‘should-be’ proud of being an African… and also Mummy – since ‘when’ we were Christians?”

Shelley stood speechless to her B-girl’s response – before she elbowed-in her ‘adult-decree’…

“No! You are to call him ‘Samuel’ in this house – and that’s final!”

Jane was quiet…

‘… now ‘who’ is the racist? YOU ‘ARE’ MUMMY… do you know your-tween ‘son’ spoke Swahili in Perthland, to his girlfriend ‘back’ there?’

The doctor-mother was still ‘not’ satisfied – she then ‘questioned’ her black-son…

“…look here, my sweet-baby – now tell me ‘your’ name… quick-boy, say ‘your’ name…”

The black toddler ‘looked’ over-at his blind-sister…

“… my… my-name is… Yoda…”

Jane at the table laughed-out – while her mother ‘corrected’ her baby-brother…

“No, you silly-boy – your name is Samuel – Sa-mu-el…”

“No-Samuel! Yoda!”

Jane was in-high-pitched giggles – an agitated Shelley shouted at her…

“Shut-up, and eat your food, Jane!!”

… Chuckling, Jane ‘simmered-down,’ wiping off her tears – and, she had by-then cleaned-up her plate of the noodles – when she heard-next…

… of her father’s Mercedes parking, at the porch.

“Daddy… come home…” the black-boy cried-out, as he climbed down from his high-stool.

-O-

Their father, Anthony surprised his children when he had fetched their big house-dog from the pound. At the porch, the Alsatian was in euphoria when it saw Jane and Samuel – he leapt at them, to lick their faces…

… the little baby-boy wrestled with Piper on the floor, and they were rolling over, laughing. Blind-Jane too joined in the fun… and was licked in her face, knocking-off her dark-glasses.

… Jane recalled her tween-brother from Perthland – who used to wrestle with his Belgium Malinois, Kitty – when he came back from school.

Anthony laughed at his children’s antics with their pet dog – until his wife came to the door and was horrified…

“OH MY-GAWD – Samuel, STOP IT – you are going to have a bath now… or you will ‘smell’ like your sister!”

“No-Mummy!” protested the boy, as he climbed on the dog’s back like a horse – as Anthony led the leashed dog, to the back-area to its cage. Jane too followed them with a bag of dog-chow, chucking as she heard her father joked…

“My Sammy-boy is like Tarzan…”

“No Daddy, Samuel is Mowgli…” the blind-girl corrected, with her Jungle Book reference…

‘… there can be only-one Tarzan – that’s ‘my’ Pauly…’

<><>

PAUL HAD A COLD SHOWER TO COOL ‘HIMSELF,’ after an ‘attack’ of his twin’s carnal escapades – while-too feeling depressed and blaming ‘himself’ of not’ being ‘Jane’s first love’…

‘… 2 years, we were sitting close-together in class – I ‘FELT’ AN attraction to you Jane, but I was too shy to talk to you…

‘… and, foom! Enter, my-one-armed twin-bro… offering to ‘teach’ you to how-play tennis, and he ‘swayed’ you…

‘… I ‘remember’ you calling him ‘Champ’ back-then in ‘your’ courting… and ‘your’ further union with ‘him’ – as the ‘Perth’s Famous Couple’…’

He was still ‘angry’ when he levitated from the shower – and faced the bathroom mirror…

… and again, just LIKE AT THE OTHER-PERTH’ – Paul stared in rage at the ‘reflection’ – of his twin smirking in the victory of their sibling-rivalry, at the other end of the mirror…

… He ‘restrained’ himself from punching the mirror, LIKE THE ‘OTHER’ PERTH – ‘not’ wanting the dire consequences of the suffering for the 9-stitches – in Jane’s mummy’s clinic, ‘remembrance’ of…

… his PAST-EPISODE – of the ‘Perth’s accidental-superheroes’ misadventure.

-O-

Paul dressed-up – but he had his dark-deep-purple-cloud of looming negative jealousy following him to the kitchen…

… feeling ‘down’ on ‘WHY’ HE WAS ‘NOT’ Jane’s first-love…

He sighed deeply, and concluded…speaking-OUT ALOUD…

“… okay-Jane, you ‘choose’ – EITHER HIM-OR-ME – I’ll respect your whatever ‘decision’ … and I’ll ‘back-away’ from you-both – I don’t want ‘the-blood-of-Perth’ in my hands…”

He needed a distraction – he levitated away, and switched on the telly and sat on the couch…

… the ‘first’ image made him go ‘whoa’ – of a raging tropical hurricane…

‘… is it ‘happening’…?’

Paul was relieved that it was ‘not’ in Perth – when he saw the CNN logo…

… with the American female newscaster – who was reporting a female-named-hurricane that was devastating the coast-of Florida…

‘… that’s oceans away from Straya… they have their ‘own’ superheroes to ‘deal’ with it… I’m… in Team-Home-grown Perth, WA…’

Paul flipped to the local new-channel, to find ‘any’ news from the zombie virus…

… which his inspector-mother had ‘BEEN’ AWAY – FOR 4 DAYS – investigating…

Paul’s eye captured the screen-caption of:

‘SUCCESSFUL NUCLEAR DEAL’

… in the Mayor of Perth’s John Blake was bragging Trump-like – of the ‘colossal’ deal he ‘made’ with the Prime Minister-himself – those nuclear-based industries would ‘congregate’ to have Perth City, as the main-hub of the country.

Paul had ‘spiralling’ vertigo-tunnel vision…

‘… no… THIS IS ADULT-SHIT with sticky ‘politics-involved’ – THIS IS ‘BEYOND’ ME – way-way above ‘my-paygrade’…

‘…huh… why am I talking in-Hollywood…??...

‘… where-as… I’m just a fly-on-the-wall ‘kid’… a crippled ‘loser’ student… in Stamford High…

‘… ‘not’ a Hollywood superhero…

‘… just a tiny Poe-pee-Poe…’

His heart was palpitating-fast, as he got a-hold-of himself… and then he resorted to a ‘prayerful’ plea – to attain ‘pragmatic’ strategy, for the Cursed-trio as a-member.

“Where are you, Mercury…? Help me – I need you – I don’t ‘know’ what to do, and… ‘why’ can’t I fight this negative emotion OF JEALOUSY AMONG-US… the members of the Cursed-trio…!!!”

… and ‘next’ he prayed to his Christian God and His-Archangels to protect his Perth City from any possible destruction from – ‘EVERY’ DIRECTION targeted by ‘evil-and-greedy’ humans and demons alike.

Paul ‘needed’ a distraction-from-a-distraction – as he flipped the next’ news-channel…

… that featured a ‘breaking news:

‘… that ‘REVEALED’ A MYSTERIOUS DARKNET HACKER CALLING him/herself as ‘New Mexico’ – had siphoned 9 trillion Aussies Dollars in the transaction banking systems online scams, for the past 4 days… which cripple the nation’s economy…’

Paul’s mind boggled to figure ‘how’ many zeros were in those trillion – as bad in Math…

‘… what-am-I? A Goldman-Sachs’ economist…?’

… he gave-up – and flipped to the next news-channel…

‘Whoa…!’

It was ‘what’ he had a longing to watch all evening – an update of the chaos in Central Perth, with the zombie-virus attacks…

… the newscaster told on the visuals of aggressive rabid ‘captured’ patients, in straitjacket and mussels were-being transported to hospitals in ambulance -- like wild-animals.

The Mayor of Perth John Blake came-on ‘LIVE’ TO one of the scenes of crime – declaring a 10 kilometres lockdown in Central Perth City…

… followed by the MIDNIGHT CURFEW in the entire city – suburbs and neighbouring areas alike…

Paul got anxious, and spoke out aloud in frustration…

“WHAT!!? I’ve been ‘stuck’ at home for the last 4 days – luckily, there ‘was’ school – ‘now,’ it’s the weekend – ‘home-alone-again’…?”

‘… where are you Mom…? I’m so-worried ‘about’ you…’

He tossed the remote control on the opposite sofa – as he levitated on his feet – while his hungry stomach grovelled aloud, with the gastric juices on the roll like a wash-tumbler machine.

‘… I got to eat…”

-O-

It was past 6 o’clock, Paul was fixing-up his dinner with the leftover food from fridge – while he turned-up volume 3X-up – AS HE WANTED TO LISTEN to the telly news, on the zombie-virus attack at the kitchen.

On the marble kitchen-top, was a dish of soft butter – Paul then displayed the food item from the fridge as the wanted to make 3 set of sandwiches – 2 ham and cheese and a pork-patty – from the last 6 slices from the bread packet.

Paul moaned-out – when he saw tiny green moulds had grown on the half-a-dozen of sliced white bread, even it was refrigerated. But he was ‘going to’ eat it anyway – as he pinched-off the bread moulds… sighing…

‘… desperate times… what that ‘won’t’ kill-you – make-you ‘into’ a strong-cripple…’

… he buttered 4 of them – and set up, his bread toaster as a griller for the ham and cheese. Next, on a saucepan, he melted the butter and seared the meat-patty…

… the smell of cooked pork – made him crave for slices of hot-crispy bacon – and he salivated to the thought-of the ‘invisible-and-missing’ food ingredient-item.

Paul was ‘listening’ to the telly – that was informed that medical tests were made on the viral rabid-disease victims – and were positive they had-shown SIMILAR SYMPTOMS of the deadly African Ebola, where – the internal organs disintegrate…

… Paul blamed…

‘IT’S HAJJI… Mom is ‘investigating’ on him – in ‘every’ Perth I’m ‘in’…’

Then, there was a ‘mention’ of a vicious monkey accompanying the at-large Patient-zero – the species of a CAPUCHIN MONKEY…

… the curious Paul lowered the heat of the cooking meat-patty – to come over to see ‘what’ the monkey looked-like – as Alicia told him in school just-now…

…. that the ‘escaped’ monkeys from the zoo WERE ‘NOT’ RELATED to the monkey-attack on the 13 victims who attended the BTS concert.

‘…ooo… it’s that Indiana Jones’ monkey…’

Paul levitated back to the stove to cook his pork patty – he had to cook the meat-through or else it would be a Semolina food poisoning, because of the bacteria in the meat – as told by their mother, but the refusal by his twin, who wanted his meat medium-rare.

Paul’s heart then skipped a beat, and he jumped float-up a few centimetres – when he ‘was’ surprised – when he saw THE DEVIL HIMSELF…

… Peter walked into the kitchen…

… the telly was loud – and Paul did ‘not’ hear the motorcycle ‘nor’ the front-door opened…

The crippled twin was relieved that IT WAS ‘NOT’ his inspector-mom…

‘… she would freak-out and jump to the height of touching-the house-ceiling herself – if SHE ‘SAW’ me levitating…’

Paul saw his one-armed nonchalant twin was ‘smelling’ of booze – going to the back area, where the washing machine ‘was’ – to get rid of the evidence…

‘… how ‘come’ he’s coming early today…?'

Then, he thought of PERTH’S MIDNIGHT CURFEW – that he learnt from the telly.

The toaster clanked – and his 2 grilled ham and cheese were ready… so was the pork-patty. Paul levitated over to the marble-counter with the sauté-pan. He placed the oval meat-patty on the buttered bread and garnished it fresh-cut onion rings – and squirted condiment sauces of BBQ and mustard, from the squeeze-bottles from the fridge.

From the back of his head, Paul sensed the red-glow entering the kitchen – the one-armed tween walked to the fridge, wearing red underwear, as he took the last can of coke and went upstairs…

‘… bloody-hell… you’re wearing the ‘same’ stinky-underwear for more than 2 days – and yet, you had complained to Mom before – that my-adult diapers were stinking the house…’

Paul put the plate of the 3-sangers stacked-up on a tray, with a mug of water – and proceeded by floating-over to the telly. He placed the tray at the coffee-table – sat up comfortably on the couch, and picked his most favourite of the sandwiches – the soggy-breaded pork patty…

… he wanted to indulge this Friday's dinner in his gastronomic pleasure and telly-escapism – and ‘not’ thinking of – ‘whatever’ that ‘was’ bothering him, in this Perth-earth…

NEITHER DID Paul Walker and Jane Wilson had CONTACTED EACH-OTHER that night.

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SATURDAY, 7 A.M. …

Peter woke up without a hangover – he vividly remembered last evening at the motel, the screwdrivers binge-drinking, and smoking-up 2 Pall Mall packs, and also the main event – of ‘rock-star-style’ heavy-love making with Frenchie, on the king-sized bed…

… until her Uncle-Wilford called her to come back home – because there was a curfew…

He too ‘remembered’ coming back home ridden on Bella’s superbike – returning to his father’s house, where he ‘encountered’ his fat-twin feeding-on-leftovers in the kitchen. He then came upstairs to his bedroom – and watched Netflix, and surfed some-porn…

… tired, and he had an early night – with light-out before 10 P.M. …

-O-

Peter read the ‘only’ notification on his phone – it was his mother’s, texting that she was ‘still’ at work. He was glad…

… that the inspector-mother was ‘not’ in his hair– as he was ENJOYING HIS ‘FREEDOM’ these few-days, by coming home ‘late’ on school-nights.

He got off from his bed and put on his shorts over his red-underwear. The bare-bodied one-armed tween put a can of RedBull and iPhone in his pockets – and his AI headset, listening to ‘grunge’ rock on Spotify…

… the late Chris Cornell was crooning ‘Black Hole Sun.’

-O-

Peter was downstairs – at the kitchen to ‘peek’ – to notice that his fat-twin ‘not’ there…

‘… the blubber is ‘still’ hibernating – after chowing his sangers…’

His stomach growled in hunger…

… normally, he doesn’t have his breakfast in the mornings – but today, he ‘had’ to eat due to the pangs – as he ‘had’ drank alcohol, last evening.

He ‘knew’ somewhere in the kitchen cabinet, were tiny boxes of CoCo Pop Crunch cereals…

… it’s ‘got’ to be there, as his twin disliked eating cereals…

Viola – there was a couple of his favourite chocolate-flavoured cereals boxes, in the bare cupboard.

… but ‘got’ no milk…

‘… Mom, why you didn’t ‘buy’ milk…?... there you go like a superhero ‘fighting’ crime – yet, you ‘forgotten’ the fact – that you can ‘buy’ a carton of milk online… with your credit-card!’

While in his recent coming home late at nights, and grabbing a coke from the fridge – he too noticed that the carton of milk ‘had’ expired 2-days-ago…

Peter opened the fridge and ‘found’ – the carton ‘not’ there…

‘Gross-Poe – you ‘are’ the human food-disposable ‘unit’ in this house…’

Peter chuckled, as it reminded him of his favourite Netflix’s superheroes popular show, called ‘The Boys’ – where there was a backstory of a character called M.M. …

‘… yea-Poe – you are Mother’s Milk – while I’m Billy Butcher…!’

The one-armed boy was practically laughing to himself – as he multitasked by biting-to-tear 2 cereal packets – and emptying the brown-content into a white bowl…

… he wanted to ‘snack’ his breakfast…

He too wanted to read the newspapers, while having breakfast – as carrying his bowl, he walked to the front door.

-O-

At the veranda, was a small garden table – where late father used to sit and read the papers on weekends.

… but no NEWSPAPER TODAY…

Peter cursed-aloud…

“Bloody curfew!”

Sitting at the garden, Peter was in chill-mode while eating a handful of the dried-cereal – while watching his neighbourhood. He saw the house across the road at an elderly woman, drying her laundry…

… it was where Mama and Papa Kiperman lived alone… the elderly woman took care of the old man, who had one-leg and moved about in a wheelchair…

… where their son Kirk…

… who HAD TRICKED HIM into joining his Hateful-8 animal activists, so-to ‘break-into’ the zoo – to release the caged monkey – that ‘had-ended-up’ sideways…

… when their’ friend Horse died that night – AND ‘THEIR’ SON, KIRK – then disposed the body by setting it and the bike to flame…

… ‘now’ the REST OF THE GROUP were lying-low from the law…

Peter was distracted by a police patrol car coming – that chased away a group of hipster skateboarding teenagers at the curb, to go back home as Perth was under a curfew order.

He softly cursed…

‘… bloody curfew…’

But the curfew too was a ‘blessing’ in disguise – while his mom was ‘away’ fighting the zombie-crimes – and at the meantime, no law had come ‘knocking’ at the Walkers’ front-door for the last 2 days, after Charlie ‘the Horse’ Ross’ death, so far…

… unlike he was in a pickle – WHEN ‘INTERROGATED’ by the CTU’s Joe Dickson – after the phone-bomb explosions in SHS, of the ‘other’ Perth.

Peter was ‘bored’ – even his music was sounding bland. Sitting and snacking his dried cereal – he ‘experimented’ by pouring RedBull into his remaining CoCo-Pop, and ate…

… it was an ‘acquired’ taste – and he ‘liked’ it.

Looking at the local news-portals on his iPhone – WHICH WERE unrelated to ‘his’ interest – of Perth’s economic growth and the recent zombie-attacks that had ‘captured’ the headlines. And, furthermore, Peter doesn’t like reading about ‘other’ people’s success…

… which was nothing-like the MARKETING OF HIS ‘PFC-BRAND,’ shared by his partnering with blind-Janey in the mixed-tennis doubles – that was ‘MEGA’ SENSATION with the denizens, in the other-Perth.

-O-

Peter was even ‘more’ bored after a half-hour, outdoor – sitting in the picket-fenced, unkempt garden, in front of his father’s house.

“… earth calling Pete2.0 – are you there…?”

“Yes, Master…”

“I’m bored – humour me now…”

“… err… erm… err…”

The one-armed tween sensed his AI was glitching as it was ‘processing’ his question – Peter ‘knew’ his ‘mediocre’ Pete2.0 was ‘NOT’ AN ADVANCED-VERSION TECH like – Boyyo – whom, he had ‘borrowed’ from Janey at the other-Perth.

“Master, I ‘don’t’ understand your question…”

Peter wanted to put his AI to a ‘test’…

… where some-time ago, he watched a stellar sci-fi Ridley Scotts-show on Netflix called ‘Raised by Wolves’ that had 2 androids called Mother and Father – and that male-android was hilarious – telling ‘his’ corny-intellectual jokes…

“Pete2.0 – what ‘happened’ to that android, the black hole, and a glass of milk that walked into a bar?”

The ‘intimidated’ AI glitched…

“… err… seriously Master… erm… I don’t understand your question…”

Feeling ‘superior,’ – Peter was ‘finally-humoured,’ as he chuckled hysterically…

‘… ‘soon’ grasshopper – soon, YOU ‘WOULD’ understand…’

Peter had given his AI permission to ‘explore’ to self-learn the Dark-Net’s backdoor network – to ‘get’ his questions inquiries with ‘instant’ fingertip-answers – but now…

… he wanted Pete2.0 to learn ‘black-hat’ diabolic stratagems – as Peter wanted to hack JANEY’S BOYYO – to get back at his twin and his ‘ex’…

… for ‘interfering-and-meddling’ with his tennis-dreams IN THE OTHER-PERTH – and ‘also,’ missed monetary opportunities in Perthland’s UK ‘blood-bag’ deal...

… where, Paul blotched it – and ‘had killed’ him, for the post-Treeton ‘reincarnation’…

Little did the one-armed mastermind ‘knew’ – that he ‘too’ was hacked…

… by Kimura Star – where the scientist-inventor Dr Jack Turner – had implanted a tracking microchip device in Pete2.0’s MOTHERBOARD TO – MONITOR the one-armed ‘recipient’s activities’ using the prototyped AI-learning-tool…

… AS IT A PRECAUTION measure – that a similar SIMY’s ‘mutiny’ would ‘not’ occur in the future’s company product – since ‘she’ went renegade into the self-destructive-mode, at the Treeton field trip visit.

-O-

After eating his sweet cereals mixed with the equally sweetened RedBull – Peter had a sugar-rush – he had to do something, to unwind…

He walked around bare-bodied the garden of the Walker house – to find for chores…

… the lawn grass needed a trim – but it was tedious-work – he looked for the ‘next’ option.

Peter looked up at the 2nd floor, at his twin’s former bedroom with the broken window, now duct-taped with plastic-sheets. He saw the 2 meters ‘broken’ branch of the willow tree on the side-lawn, below the ‘damaged’ window.

He wanted to chop the long branch into tiny logs, to dispose of it later – to ‘keep’ the lawn of his father’s house clean. Peter remembered seeing a small axe, beside the workbench in the garage…

… while walking there, his AI spoke…

“Master… a gentle reminder… you have some school reading assignment this weekend – while the teachers would ‘test’ you next week.”

“Okay-mate, I’m in the ‘mood’ today, INDULGE-ME – so, Pete2.0, do your-thang – educate me…” the cynical one-armed boy chucked, as he left the garage with the hatchet.

“… very-well, Master – which subject do we start with…?”

“The ‘simpler’ subject, of course, you-dummy– and certainly ‘not’ that-Constance Bloom’s Math – I don’t ‘need’ that shit at-all-in my life – as long I still have 5-fingers to ‘count,’ and get to use a calculator, of-course…!”

“… then, its History!”

“What! That ‘boring’ Alexander Hull’s subject…!!?”

“But Master – it’s the simplest-one… all you have to do is ‘memorize’ the chronology of events…”

“Ok-Boy, where do we start…?”

“We start with the British Penal Colonies…”

“Take-it-away, mate…” Peter said as he hacked the branch, with the sharp tool.

Pete2.0 cleared its digital throat voice-box – as it went into its primary-mode of coaching…

“In the 17th and 18th centuries, convicted criminals in Great Britain were transported to far-off penal colonies in different parts of Britain’s Empire. The Great British government wanted to separate…”

Peter ‘soon’ interrupted…

“Great my ass, Pete2.0 – and it’s ssooo-boringgg – whoa, wait for one-second, I ‘got’ an idea… tell me like it’s a 3-Act storytelling format… you may use the fairy tales’ opening of …

“… ‘Once-Upon-a-Time,’ or-or-or … like Star Wars with…

“… ‘A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away’....”

The AI ‘glitched’ before speaking…

“Once upon a time… a long time ago… in a ‘continent’ far, far away… in the penal settlement at Macquarie Harbour, situated on the west coast of the Van Diemen’s Land, that had a region that earned the reputation of being a place of horror. Its inmates were “some of the most incorrigible criminals of the Kingdom”. And, during the 11 years…

“… that Macquarie Harbour operated as a penal station (1822 to 1833), of which 1,150 men and 30 women served out their live-sentences behind its “sullen gates”.

“Macquarie Harbour jailers lock the sullen gates no more …

… but lash-strokes sound in every shock of ocean…

… on the dismal rocks along that barren shore.”

By Rex Ingamell

Hence from that day, the bibliophilic-Peter – WHO ‘BEFORE’ feared and had hatred of his schoolbooks ‘had’ then… ‘learned-something-of-facts’ in – HIS HATED’ TEACHER…

… Mr Alexzander Hull’s History subject…

… where his AI had ‘simplified’ and ‘COACHED’ him.

And, in months to come – he was no-longer the weakest student of SHS’ 6th grade of SHS…

… that dishonour-standing went to…

… the ‘other’ bogan Donovan – Raymond, the elder-twin.