(The true circumstances of how Sandi heard the song "Torch It Up" by Wire)
Sandi Griffin stopped punching her pillow. It wasn't fighting back nor
screaming in pain, so punching it wasn't doing anything for her. In
fact, if a pillow could look smug then this pummeled cushion was all but
smirking at her. She punched it again for good luck and then picked it
up and hurled it against the wall. It tumbled to the floor, sounding
like someone tutting in disapproval at her outburst.
Sandi threw herself on the bed and imagined the sound of celery sticks
snapping in two, which was very satisfying if you pretended they were
the necks of your enemies. And Sandi had plenty of those ever since the
disaster at the school dance. Getting away from Glenfield Middle School
couldn't come soon enough, to get away from all that mockery and
humiliation and the way they all gossiped that she had been forced to
have plastic surgery because her own parents could look at her when she
had braces without being copiously and violently sick.
Next year she'd start high school, but how would that be any better?
Even if she managed to avoid all the losers from Glenfield, she was like
a diver or something dropped at the deep end of a swimming pool. It
would be tempting to just sink away, but then she'd have no escape from
this non-stop pitched battle with her bratty brothers and being
overlooked by whichever parent happened to be home that day.
But she was sick of swimming, too. Damn it, how many years of having to
suck up to the right people, kowtow to the correct cliques? It sounded
like hell, and she felt like she was at the bottom of an upside down
pyramid, being ground into the dirt. She couldn't even ask for help
because, as her mother had always told her, that was just telling the
whole world how and where you were at your weakest.
God, even in her room she couldn't escape!
Sandi turned on her radio, hoping some random noise or whatever would
just block out hell for the next five seconds. It was at the start of a
song, but with a horrible noise like a whale song if that whale had a
nose bleed. Rapid drums bashed in just the right way to give Sandi a
headache. She reached forward and twisted the power dial, but there was a
dull crunch (curiously very similar to that of snapping celery) and the
dial came off in her hand.
The radio, out-smugging even the pillow at this stage, kept groaning the music at her.
In the house not home behind closed doors they hide their fakes between the floors
In the house not home under the bed stories are told and lies are spread
The house not the home is full of love, it's the hate which seeps in from above
I'm going to torch it! Torch it down!
I'm going to torch it! With you on the top!
The song seemed to taunt her - it sounded like the singer was circling
around her, leaning in close to taunt her with a crazy grin and worst of
all was enjoying her discomfort. Sandi grabbed the broken dial and
tried to switch it off again, but the radio was stubbornly insisting on
making her listen to the whole damn loser tune.
A song about a house she was stuck in, a place she hated and hated her
back. A place that she could never be happy or in control. She had to
burn it down and leave herself in charge. Wow, for such a dumb song that
was clearly years old, it sure seemed, like relevant or whatever...
In the house not home, there are four blanks
Your ignorance was unusable, your thoughtlessness was not
Four blanks? Sandi Griffin and three other girls? Maybe at Lawndale High
she could form a gang, a fresh start for her and three others who
wouldn't dare question her. She could be the leader of the gang, no,
wait, a club! There were all sorts of clubs and this time she wouldn't
be part of it, she would be the ruler! She'd the best at it and no one
else could do anything but follow her. The Sandi Griffin Club with Sandi
Griffin as President for Life!
I'm going to torch it! I'm going to torch it!
I'm going to torch it with you on the top!
Sandi Griffin on the top, torching everything below... Yeah, that totally worked for her.
We sing our cheap despair as our secrets are sold!
The spirit's broken, I'm gonna torch you down!
The spirit is not broken, I'm gonna raise it up from the ground!
Innocence, hope of lost mysteries explained!
Sandi Griffin's Club for the Truly Fashionable. They would drag the next
generation of this town into the proper styles and trends of the new
century. She was never going to be behind on the latest fashions ever
again, and she would always be ahead of the curve. Glenfield was the
middle, but LH was the top and that's right where Sandi would be!
Me, me, me! Well, it's the hate, it leaks in from above!
It's the hate - it's full of love
I'm going to torch it! I'm going to torch it!
I'm going to torch it! With you on the top!
As if suddenly-unable to continue, Sandi's broken radio sparked and
popped and fell silent with a lingering acrid stink of molten plastic.
Sandi herself was startled at the sudden quiet, and realized she'd need a
brand new - more expensive and more reliable - sound system for her
room, which could also stand to be redecorated.
From now on she was going to wipe the smiles off her enemies, human or
furniture, and she could sense the Griffin household was no longer so
confident in its mockery of her.
Calm and relaxed, Sandi scooped up her pillow and lay down on her bed to contemplate her glorious future.
And, gently under her breath, she sang to herself:
"All me-me prayers! All me-me prayers!
All me-me prayers! All me-me prayers!
All me-me prayers! All me-me prayers!
A wailing wail of despair!"
And Sandi laughed.
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