ENGLISH

YEAR 9 LITERATURE

Students in this elective subject were recently asked to write a short piece that focused on a distinct character and the use of narrative voice. This piece, written by Darneet Chahil, imagines the voice of Cillian Carter, manager of The Runaways. It blew us all away! Enjoy. 

Listening to the aggressive melodies of The Runaways being casually performed thousands of feet in the air, while watching what feels like Rimbaud's last sunrise is the kind of surrealist escape I envisioned as a teenager. Yet despite seeing the developed film, I still don't feel present on this flight to New York. This nauseating stench of anxiety constantly lingers with me, misplacing the warmth that is usually present in grainy, romanticized moments like these. Instead, I feel like a spectator to my own life, looking in through a keyhole. I feel like I have just dipped my feet in scorching hot water that my body interpreted as bitterly cold. Managing a Rock n’ Roll band produces many situations similar to this. Nevertheless, I know my current mood is a bad reaction to seeing family.

I had driven straight to the airport from my father's theatre opening in London, an event I attended for a good 20 minutes, because why would I give him the support I never received?

You see, my father is a mean man. A type-A personality with a facial expression imitating cement. His reputation is built on frosted pearls bought for my mother as consolation for enduring their relationship. To keep it short and sweet.

I only attended for my mother and sister as I assume they were the ones who encouraged my invitation. My father and I had not been in the same vicinity for 7 years, however the atmosphere preserved the same cruelty as our last interaction. I'm pretty sure I caught a sickly ‘bloody hell’ coming from under his breath at the sight of my red hair, an homage to the man who fell to earth. Considering my Punk peers maybe I should have taken it as a compliment?

Out of my 20-minute appearance, 10 were spent traveling through thick second hand smoke of illegally imported Cuban cigars, refreshing my hatred for these elitist Oxford alums. Seeing my mother and my sister Stella was interesting though. I still manage to talk to them pretty frequently, via meticulously crafted wax-sealed letters that Joan (Jett) never stops tormenting. Stella even came to a show a couple of months ago, and by her ever so gentle headbanging, I could tell she enjoyed it. However, I felt bad for my mother and sisters' roles as mediators between my father and I.

I’m trying to stop thinking about that night, but it never really works that way does it? - not for the living anyway. 

‘Mr Carter, could you please fasten your seatbelt, we'll be landing soon' said the pessimistic Persian stewardess.

As the sun danced in her eyes, I tried indulging myself in our achievement of headlining CBGBs to distract myself from my admittedly privileged yet scarring childhood. 

Written by: Darneet Chahil, Year 9B

Subject Teacher: Dr Natalie Day