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[[uk:Шаблон:Fact]]
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The Canterbury tales
Prologue
There was a bus, red and shiny
Commandeered by the most beautiful lady of the land
With an eclectic mix of passengers
A crash and delay
This bus to Canterbury had a full and exciting day.
The senior citizen who uses his age against the world:
The old man who lectures,
Small, short old man.
With a handle-bar moustache
And grey, short, slick hair.
He never leaves his house without a fob watch and eyeglass
Always wearing old-fashioned clothes.
A chuckle from him is never seen
As he is a widower,
Who thought the world of his wife.
His voice always quiet with sorrow
When talking about her, his eyes fill with tears.
He always dreams of his wife…
In short,
That is
The old man who lectures.
A youth: poor and fun loving:
A platinum blonde mop of scruffy hair,
Flopped down over his acne-ridden forehead.
Thick, brown mice as eyebrows, browning teeth in his mouth,
A few curly hairs sprouting from his chin.
Loving alcopops, vodka and lager,
The local kebab shop
Girls desire his masculine ways;
Scratching himself and burping loudly.
This boy stayed true to his Liverpudlian roots
The young girl and her mother set off in their brand new Benz speeding home from school. They cut a corner and flew round a roundabout only to find themselves jolted forward. The windscreen was cracked and the front of the car seriously dented. But even worse than that was the bus in front, with gas escaping from under the front hood. The headlights of the bus were shattered and the paintwork scratched. After the shock of the quick crash had left, the woman left her sniffling daughter in the car to go and speak, or rather shout, at the bus driver.
“You crashed into me! This car is brand new! You’d never be able to pay for a beauty like this even if you saved every penny you ever earned in your crummy life! My insurance company, in fact, my lawyer, will definitely have a few things to say. How old are you? 20? 21? Your life will be over even before it’s begun! I could have been hurt!”
The bus driver listened intently and then suddenly began speaking in a calm and steady tone, “I think you’ll find you rammed into me. And before you call your lawyers you’d better go and check if your poor daughter’s alright. Look at the state she’s in. Now you’re free to come and sit on my bus while we wait for the AA, who I’ve already called. But since this is such a secluded area, and they’re very busy, it could take up to four hours.”
“First of all, missy, don’t you dare tell me how to raise my own daughter! You’ve probably got five already and another on the way, that’s all you’re good for! But don’t you even dare. And no, we will not be sitting on your dirty, little bus with these…these…commoners! And thirdly, the AA?” shrieked the woman, “I have a private insurance company with many offices all over England, they guarantee never to take more than 30 minutes…ever!” The woman stormed off to call her insurance company from the car-phone while her daughter sat in the back, shivering in the cold, red-cheeked and red-eyed wondering why her mother had been on a bus.
“Some people, eh? Show ‘em a bit of kindness and they decide they can walk all over you! I’ll try to start the bus again.” Murmured the bus driver to no one in particular. The old man in the back of the bus was staring out of the window blankly, thinking about the time when his car broke down and he and his wife were forced to walk five miles back to the city.
It was then that the awful woman and her spoilt child shuffled through the door.
“My company has some…some difficulty finding us and sending out a tow-truck. They won’t be here in the next hour or two. So, since my central heating isn’t working…and yours is…and my daughter might catch pneumonia or something…” mumbled the woman as her daughter stood cowardly behind her staring at the people on the bus in awe.
“Yes, of course you can come in, sit anywhere and make yourself comfortable. I’ll put the radio up.” Smiled the bus driver.
Just then the old man snapped out of his daydream, “Why do we need the radio on? Can’t we just sit here nicely, minding our own businesses?”
“Shut up you old fogey! You’re free to go loopy by yourself but we want the radio on, innit, love?” jeered the yob, obviously trying and failing to amuse the bus driver as he leaned over the counter.
The beautiful bus driver tossed her hair over her shoulders and turned the radio to Kiss 100. The woman and her child looked at each other disapprovingly. Suddenly the foreign student who was sitting at the back of the bus decided to try and entertain everybody.
“How ‘bout we all tell story? Yah, story good! I start, I start! Or you, I don’ mind. Hey, you, little girl, you gotta nice story to tell?” she beamed as everybody on the bus tried to ignore her.
“I’m not a little girl, I’m 12 years old for your information. But you probably can’t even understand what I’m saying right now,” begun the girl, happy to be the centre of attention,
“I ’ m s p e a k i n g E n g l i s h , a n d y e s , I d o h a v e a r e a l l y g o o d s t o r y ! I t ‘ s a n a d a p t a t i o n o f a g r e a t S h a k e s p e a r e ; I ‘ m s t u d y i n g i t i n . . . s c h o o l !” said the girl loudly and slowly as if the foreign student was deaf.
“Okay now no-one interrupt me!
Once upon a time there was a girl called Lizzie, she was 12 years old. Her father had died 7 years ago in a car accident- well that was what her mother had told her. Her mother had married Lizzie’s uncle about 3 months after her husband died but this was only because Lizzie’s mum could not look after Lizzie by herself. Lizzie had always thought that her mother and uncle had not told her the full story but she had to find out who was in the other car and get her revenge. She was always suspicious of her uncle as he could never look her in the eye whenever she talked about her father and what is even more suspicious is that he always carried a little, black, leather diary with him. Lizzie was always curious about what was inside it so tonight she was going to find out. She quietly opened the door of her uncle’s room at night and crept in. She saw that the diary was on his bedside table and quickly and quietly grabbed it and ran out. As she opened it she gasped as she read the first page. ‘I killed him’ it said in his curly handwriting ‘I killed my brother’ Lizzie eyes had turned red and tears started rolling down her face. ‘It was an accident. I did not mean to but it just happened’ Lizzie quickly shut the book and was about to enter her uncle’s room when all of a sudden the door opened and her uncle came out. She quickly hid the diary and said that she had come out to get a glass of water and went to bed with the diary. She hid it under the pillow and fell asleep. In her dream she heard a voice and thought it was her father’s. It kept saying ‘kill him! Kill him!’ Lizzie woke up gasping. She had the diary in her hand now. She knew what she had to do even if she did not want to but she had to obey her father.
That night her uncle asked for a glass of wine –her mother was out on a cookery course so now was her chance. She went to the kitchen and got a glass of wine. Once she had seen her mother putting rat poison in the cupboard so she took some of it and put it in the wine and gave it a good mix. She gave it to her uncle. He drank it and said that it had a weird taste tonight but it was nice. Lizzie waited. All of a sudden blood started to come out of her uncle’s nose and mouth he looked at her and flopped to the floor. Lizzie never knew that death could be so painful if it was to someone who she hated so much. Well that was it Lizzie had got her revenge and at least she had fulfilled her father’s wishes and she had to take whatever was going to come to her now.
Amber Javed
The end. Now did everybody love it?”
“You know what? You think you’re so good because you go to a private school and your mum has a nice ride! But you’re not! I can do a lot better than that, in fact, I will!” shouted the yob while lighting a cigarette.
“No smoking on my bus, mate. Step outside or put it out.” Ordered the bus driver.
“It’s freezing cold out there, the fag’ll turn to ice!”
“No, put it out right now! I’ve had a really hectic day at work trying to settle the Sony Ericsson account while negotiating the details of my divorce and dealing with my brat of a daughter calling me at lunchtime to complain about the sandwiches that were being served! It’s bad enough this bus comes hurtling into me and my insurance company can’t send anyone to pick me up for hours. But I will not allow this day to get any worse! I’ve been on the Karma Jaki Fitness Program; it costs £1000 a month! No sugar, calories or taste, four hours of exercise a day, no booze whatsoever and the worst thing possible to throw it all away is to passive smoke. Now put that out or I’ll stub it out on your face!” bellowed the woman who had up until now been trying to set up her laptop so she could type up some legal documents. The sheer rage in her voice told the boy she was serious and he immediately threw the cigarette onto the bus floor and stepped on it.
“So, fella,” started the foreigner again, “What about that story you gonna tell? Beat the little girl, she think she so good!”
The yob stared at the woman for a few moments before beginning, “Okay, then. So you did an adaptation of Hamlet, eh? Yeah, I worked it out. Well guess what this is an adaptation of!
Once upon a time there was a boy called Jules who was the son of the notorious Italian Godfather, Santana Verucci. Jules lived in England with his mother, Liarna, to stay away from the Mafia until it was his turn to be the boss. And also to remove any risk of him being killed. His father’s ex-best friend, Raymond Cavalli, had shot his older brother. Even though it had been an accident his father had issued a price for Raymond and his family’s heads. The older brother had been shot in the spine and could no longer use his legs or arms. He was immediately shipped off to the Italian countryside to live with his grandma.
Jules loathed England, he would much rather be living in one of his father’s mansions in Italy. He was supposed to be living a quiet life in England but he still had to have shooting, negotiating and assassinating lessons. Even though he tried to keep a low profile, everybody suspected he carried a gun to church or dealt drugs, because of his family. He was home-schooled because all of the local public and private schools couldn’t take his kind of ‘risk’.
“Jules, dear, I’ve signed you up for a summer activity camp. It’ll be great, a chance for you to go somewhere where nobody knows about…us, your family, and an opportunity to make friends.” Smiled Liarna.
“Why, mama? I don’t want to go! Please, they’ll find out, and even if they don’t they’ll think I’m weird anyway.”
“No, I’ve already put down a deposit and it’s only for two weeks, honey.” Coaxed his mother, soothingly.
That was the end of that.
The next week, Jules was packing his bags for the camp. His tummy was tight with fear and anticipation. He was seriously dreading the next couple of weeks, having to interact, try and make friends and hide hid past.
As the coach pulled up to the cottages, everybody emptied out to get the best beds. There were three cottages, one for boys’ dormitories, one for girls’ dormitories and another for the living and dining room. As Jules got off of the coach he noticed a stunning girl with olive skin, brown freckles on her nose and curly chocolate locks falling across her shoulders. She caught his eye and smiled but he quickly looked away.
At dinner that evening, Jules sat by himself but the girl came to sit with him.
“Hi, my name is Romana, what is yours?”
He considered ignoring her or simply moving away, but she had a kind smile on her face, not the jeering kind that the girls at home had plastered to their faces whenever they were mocking him.
“Jules Ver…Jules Vertegreen.”
“Jules Vertegreen? Wow, what a…bilingual name.” She laughed. Jules laughed with her and for the first time in a long time he knew he’d made a friend.
Over the next two weeks, the pair spent all of their time together and at the end of the camp, agreed to call each other at least three times a week.
“Good bye, Jules Vertegreen.” Smiled Romana sorrowfully.
He kissed her quickly on the lips and got in to his mother’s car.
“So, you made a friend?” said Liarna that night as they ate dinner together in their tiny flat.
Jules began to blush, “Yes.”
“Well does your friend have a name?”
“Romana.”
“Do you know her surname?” inquired Liarna.
“No, but I know her initials are RC.”
“Oh, okay, you get to bed. I need to make a phone call.”
“Hello, Santana, I knew it was her, she’s got her father’s eyes and nose and high cheekbones.”
“Who? You knew it was who?” barked Santana in his usual hostile tone.
“Romana Cavalli, but I don’t have much credit left so I’ll just give you her number…”
“Hi, Romana, it’s Jules.”
“Hi, are you alright? You sound a bit…scared.” She said worriedly.
“Your father is Cavalli, isn’t he? Raymond Cavalli? Well, I lied to you, my name is Jules Verucci.”
“Is that supposed to make any sense to me?” she joked.
“The son of Santana Verucci.”
“Never heard of him!”
“Oh, maybe your father didn’t tell you, you were quite young at the time. Basically my father owns a mafia and he is enemies with your father. He wants him dead. I heard my mum speaking on the phone last night. They’re arranging for a henchman to pay you a visit in the next week.”
“Oh my gosh! Can’t you stop him? Tell him we’re in love!” she whispered while holding back her tears.
“I tried. They’re shipping me off to live with my grandma and brother…In Italy.”
“No! I can’t sit her and wait for somebody to come and kill me and my family. But I can’t leave you. I love you!”
“You need to run away!”
“No, I have to be with you, let’s go together. Let’s die together.”
“Romana…”
“Don’t you love me enough, Jules? I don’t want the pain of being tortured and killed, and I can’t bear the pain of leaving my one true love. Please, Jules, this way we can be together forever.”
“But…I love you…okay, I’ll do it.”
“Santana! Jules is dead, so is Romana Cavalli! And the family have escaped!” screamed Liarna down the telephone.”
Damola Shobowale
The yob grinned, obviously pleased with his heart-rending tale.
“Very good, boy. Better than the girl’s!” beamed the foreign girl.
“In your opinion!” scowled the little girl.
“Hey you, old man,” called the Asian student, “ Tell us a story. You gotta know loads of story! Lookin’ so old and weary!”
The old man finally snapped out of his daydream and acknowledged the fact that he was being addressed.
“A story? No thanks, I’d rather be left to my own devices, girl.” He rasped.
“No, sir, it’s only fair you tell a story as well.” Said the spoilt brat rudely.
“Leave me be.” He pleaded so weakly he was almost begging.
“C’mon, Mr. Hardley, you can even tell us about your wife, if that’ll help.” Smiled the bus driver reassuringly. The familiar voice and the mention of his wife seemed to shock him into place.
“Okay, then. If I must.
There was once a young couple called Leo and Hayley. Leo and Hayley had a daughter called Perdita. Leo was expecting a visit from an old friend, named Paul. Leo was suspicious and thought there was something going on between Paul and Hayley. Leo sent Perdita away to be brought up by a builder, to get her away from the chaos. Shortly afterwards, Hayley ‘died’.
Years later: - Perdita was sixteen and met Frankie, the son of Paul. Leo then visited Paul to put the past behind them. Leo saw Perdita and Frankie together, he was happy to see this. Leo was happy that some of his loved ones were close. But sad because his wife wasn’t there. Pauline was Hayley’s servant. Pauline whispered to Leo, “ Look at the statue.”
Leo looked at the statue, the statue started to move! It was Leo’s wife. Leo was ecstatic that his wife came to life. And there were two happy ever afters. The first for Perdita and Frankie, The second was Leo and Hayley had been reunited.”
Henna Poomun-Muree
The old man smiled briefly to himself, and then began daydreaming again.
“All your stories been stolen from Shakespeare but changed!” bubbled the foreigner excited that she understood what everyone was speaking about.
The woman, avoiding her daughter’s eye sniffed, “I’m sorry, darling, I’ve just been thinking about myself. Since…since your father left. Work, work, work! I haven’t been thinking about you or how you’re feeling. And now, hearing about true love and an ultimatum of watching the one you love crumble or die…well, I’ve realised how much I love you, but how little I show it. So…I’m…I suppose what I’m trying to say is that…”
“I understand, mum.” And with that they embraced each other for the first time in years.
The bus was silent, allowing the two to have their private moment and then suddenly the bus driver began to speak, as if to the air or the windows or the frost collecting on them. The look on her face so distant and lonely.
“You can probably tell from my skin that I'm Puerto Rican. I’ve lived in Puerto Rica for most of my life. It was only recently that I moved here.
Gunshots were a part of everyday life. If a gunshot wasn’t heard at least once everyday, then God himself must have come down. My father worked long hour’s everyday and came home in the early hours of the morning. He never really explained what he did. I had grown up without a mother; she had died whilst giving birth to me. My father was kind and caring when he was there, he never really despised me for being the reason why my mother was dead. I loved and admired him for that, I had no siblings. My father sometimes brought some people from “work”; he said that they were his “colleagues”; then he would send me up to bed so I always went so as to not enrage him.
School had the same story today as it was everyday- Some kid I didn’t even know getting beaten up by the older kids. Older kids hustling and selling drugs. My friends and I were virtually nobodies. But that didn’t matter to us. I got home and there were some “colleagues” in the parlour with my father. I went up to my room, as usual and I heard some raised voices. I was worried but I knew a lot better than to get involved with these kind of people. I just curled up at the edge of my bed and prayed for them to leave soon. It was then that I heard 4 ear-piercingly loud gunshots, they literally shook the house. I rushed downstairs, not caring about what would happen to me. And then I saw it…”
There was a loud knock on the windscreen. It was the AA, ready to tow away the bus. The bus driver let them know what had happened, tears rolling down her frosty cheeks as she spoke. When asked what was wrong she simply shook her head and looked up to the sky. She never got to finish her story; it’s still bottled up inside her, waiting for another crash, an audience and a chance.
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