"Dude, I'm bored," I groaned, flopping face first onto my plush couch. Turning my head to look at my phone screen, I saw that Milo was shaking his head, busily typing on his computer. "You're ignoring me. Rude."
Milo just snorted at my words, not bothering to look at his phone, which I suspected he had propped up against a stack of books while he worked.
"Well, unlike someone, I actually have assignments due," Milo replied, brow furrowing as he flicked through some papers on his desk. Like always, he had an angry-looking frown etched into his features, which most people would think of as handsome if he didn't look like he wanted to murder them all the time. Dark almond-shaped eyes, dark hair cut short and shaved at the sides, angular nose, strong jaw. If it wasn't for his thick eyebrows pointing downwards in a permanent glare or the forever-present disinterested scowl on his lips, people would describe him as 'handsome' rather than 'terrifying'.
"Okay, Mr. Double-Degree," I huffed, leaning my head on my forearm as Milo worked. "And who are we kidding. You're a weird genius wonder-kid, you don't even need to be studying to be top of your class. Basically a younger, less good-looking Tony Stark." Milo finally tore his eyes from the mass of papers on his desk to give me an exasperated look, which I responded to with a lazy grin.
"The content and the tests aren't the problem. It's these stupid assignments, Culver. Even if I know everything in my head, I need to have the references. I can recite our whole textbook, but apparently I still need to find 15 different, credible sources to include in the paper. Oh, and they can't be written more than five years ago. Five years, man. The guy that wrote all our textbooks died more than five years ago."
Milo ended his monotonous monologue with a click of his tongue, before loosing a tight breath, rolling his eyes. His native German accent sometimes filtered through when he got particularly worked up, and I grinned at the way his tongue spoke his R's. He had been living here since primary school, so most of the accent had ebbed away, but sometimes it would slip in. He often got embarrassed when it did, but I thought it was endearing.
I let my best-friend gather himself for a moment, very used to his slightly grumpy nature and tendency to rant in a strangely flat and emotionless yet forceful tone.
When we met in year 7, almost 8 years ago, Milo had been very much the same; glaring at everyone, snapping whenever someone said something to him, and giving people who were less intelligent than him (meaning everyone) a condescending click of his tongue and eye roll every time they spoke. Everyone was scared of the guy and decided it was best to just avoid him. Well, everyone with a sense of self preservation, at least.
In other words, everyone but me.
No one who knew me was actually surprised when they found me chatting to that new kid with the death-stare at school; Culver Fleet, class A birdbrain, winner of the world title of laziness, professional procrastinator, king of non-commitment, advocate for the death of perseverance and casual parkour enthusiast. That was me, and my friends at the time had definitely warned that I would get punched if I pestered the new kid.
I preferred the term 'befriend' rather than 'pester', though.
I didn't end up getting punched by Milo though. Adamantly ignored? Yes. Glared at when I sat with him at lunch? Yes. Cursed at when I forced him to partner with me in science class? Most definitely.
But eventually, Milo had stopped giving me the stink eye when I approached him. He had stopped cursing at me when I sequestered him at lunch, instead saving me a seat next to him at the lunch table every day. When we needed partners in class we didn't have to say anything, knowing that we would be partnering up.
It became the class joke, then - us being friends. Best friends. Milo Schultz, resident grinch and certified Einstein, and Culver Fleet, idiot king and happy-go-lucky pothead. We honestly could not be any more different, but that was fine with us.
"Got that out of your system?" I asked in sing-song, Milo's mouth twitching into a small, barely-there smile, which, by his standards, was a huge grin.
"Yeah," Milo said, shrugging as he picked up his phone, leaning back in his desk chair. He took off his glasses that he only wore when he was reading and working, rubbing his dark brown eyes. Looking back into the camera, Milo's natural frown smoothened out a little as he gave me a questioning look.
"What? Do I have something on my face?" I asked, looking at the image of myself in the corner of the video-chat screen. Nothing looked out of place - or nothing more than normal, anyway. My long, light brown hair was undone, slightly greasy 2-day old waves curving against my shoulders. My hazel eyes were slightly red, which was normal considering I had just smoked a joint before calling Milo, but that probably wasn't as prominent through the camera. There wasn't anything apart from my freckles on my face, so I just gave Milo a confused look in return.
"Mn, it's nothin'," Milo said, shaking his head. "I was just thinking that you should be studying. You know, like... animal feet, or something." Milo's words made me laugh loudly, dimples pinching at my cheeks in the camera.
"Animal feet," I repeated, laughing again. "Milo, that was so last semester."
Milo shot me another one of his tiny smiles, rolling his eyes.
"Hey, don't mock me, you engineering-computer science elitist," I said, wiggling my finger accusingly in front of the camera. "I'll have you know, zoology is a very respectable field. Learning about animal balls is real world-saving stuff."
"Sure is," Milo said, voice soft yet flat. I scoffed at his words, scrunching my face up.
"No need for sarcasm, my friend," I responded petulantly. "My parents are very proud, you know. They'll be even prouder if I become an ornithologist, like my mum. Not that I want to, because, more studying? No thank you."
I shivered at the prospect of willingly subjecting myself to even more years of university after finishing my degree. I hadn't done particularly well in my final year of highschool, unlike Milo, and just chose zoology on a whim. I mean, I did like animals, and considering my mum's career, I actually knew quite a bit about them, which made studying easier. It was a no-brainer in my mind; why not study something I already knew a lot about? Less effort for me, less time needed to study, more time to smoke weed.
Perfect.
In all honesty, if I dropped out I wouldn't suddenly be left stranded in a pit of despair. As mum was a world-renowned ornithologist, her income left my family very, very comfortable. It also helped that dad was also a famous wildlife photographer, and that the two of them have collaborated on numerous best-selling books about birds.
The fact that both of my parents came from old money and started off disgustingly rich also helped.
Mum was obviously over the moon that I had chosen zoology, but she would have been happy no matter what I chose, even if it was to become a stripper, or porn star, or hit man. It was probably her overly supportive nature that moulded me to become so apathetic towards everything.
Dad also couldn't give two tosses about school or jobs, more concerned about my social relationships. He was, embarrassingly, worried that I was lonely, since he and my mum were basically never home. They were always out in the wild studying and photographing birds, and rarely stayed at the opulent mansion we called home. He was always calling to check up on me, and got choked up when I said that I was busy hanging out with friends. When I had started dating Lark towards the end of highschool, he had burst into tears in the middle of a field in Africa.
We broke up about two months ago, but I didn't really have the heart to tell him that.
"I wasn't being sarcastic, you idiot," Milo said, frowning again. "You could do amazing things if you actually tried, you know."
"Aw, shucks," I said, pressing a hand to my heart dramatically. "No one believes in me like you do, baby."
"Ugh, don't call me that," Milo grunted, giving me a look before turning back to his computer. "Anyway, I'm hanging up. I have to work on my assignment and you're annoying."
"But I'm bored!" I yelled, wriggling on my couch as I whined. "I ran out of weed, and there are no more movies to watch on Netflix and it's too wet outside to do parkour. I'm booooooored."
"And I'm busy," Milo replied succinctly, smirking slightly. "Bye, C."
"Party pooper," I grumbled, sticking my tongue out. Milo's short laugh was cut off as he hung up. Flopping back onto my stomach, I just lay there motionlessly for a good thirty minutes, letting my mind wander to the tune of 'I'm so bored, I'm so fucking bored'. It was only when I got a message from my weed dealers - who were just two blockheads from my year in highschool that happened to grow weed in the basement of their house - that I bothered to open my eyes again.
Weedle-dee and Weedle-dum - 2:25pm
Hey dude, we got some extra shit left over bc our buyer flaked
Want it? 🌲🌿
Fleety - 2:26pm
Fuck yeah
thought youd never ask 😩👌
you guys are my heroes
i love you from the bottom of my heart 🥺
Weedle-dee and Weedle-dum - 2:26pm
lol just doin god's work my man
pick up same place as usual
Fleety - 2:27pm
k i'm leaving now
be there in 20 😘
Quickly walking upstairs to my bedroom, I threw on some black tracksuit pants over my briefs and a hoodie. Tying my long hair into a low bun before jamming my feet into some sneakers, I jumped into my car - an old Mercedes that had once been my dad's - and drove to the pick up location, which was a quiet park about 10 minutes from my place.
Since it was raining, it wasn't too hard to find a park along the curb. Jumping out of the car, pulling my hood up to shield myself from the rain, I began jogging over to the colourful playground in the middle of the park. Even though I managed to park close to the park, it was still a good 3 minute jog, the rain beginning to soak through my thick hoodie.
Squatting beneath the slide and out of the rain, was Weedle-dum - more formally known as Dean - the younger of the twin weed brothers that most of the potheads from my highschool bought from. His dirty blonde hair was covered by a beanie, and gave me a small wave as he spotted me running over.
"Hey man," he greeted, slapping my hand in a brief handshake before pressing a small plastic bag filled with weed into my palm. Giving it a sniff, I smiled widely, wanting nothing more than to go home, get back into my pyjamas and get high.
"Keep the change, dude," I said, handing Dean a wad of cash. "I know you've been saving up for that car."
"Always happy doing business with you, Fleety," Dean laughed, patting me on the back. "I gotta head, though. My mate's waiting. Enjoy the stuff, man."
"Oh, you know I will," I laughed, pocketing the weed as Dean made a mad dash for a beat-up silver car that looked like a tetanus trap.
As I was about to begin the short jog back to my car, the rain decided to pick up, battering against the slide like a choir of hammers.
"Just my luck," I sighed, plopping my body down onto the ground beneath the slide to wait out the sudden outburst of rain. It was almost the end of winter, so it was still chilly outside, particularly on a downcast day like today. However, the weather was also temperamental and seemingly bipolar, and whenever it rained heavily it never lasted for too long.
Five minutes passed until I was proven right, the rain subsiding to a tired drizzle, the clouds parting. The ground was muddy, but the browning leaves on the trees lining the footpath glistened with droplets and the air held that comforting smell of fresh rain.
Lovely. Now it's time to drive home and enjoy a nice, relaxing afternoon.
Humming to myself as I walked back to my car, ducking under some low-lying branches that interrupted the footpath, I was unprepared for the sudden attack that flew towards me.
"Oh, fuck!" I yelped, as there was a squawk from above, a ferocious bundle of black and white flying towards me. "Fucking magpies! Fuck! Fuck! Calm down! Ow! Jesus! Get off!" My voice was frantic as the territorial magpie shrieked in my ear, talons scratching at my arms and beak attempting to gouge out my eyes.
Screaming as ran towards my car, desperately trying to bat away the devil on wings, I felt its talons dig into the back of my hands that were trying to shield me, its beak drawing blood across my cheek.
"Fuck! Fuck! I fucking hate magpies!" I yelled, unlocking my car and diving into it, slamming the door shut. The magpie's insane shrieking continued outside, the beast raging as it dove towards me, slamming against the window of my car. There was a loud thud, and then the screaming ceased. Some blood had smeared across the window, but ran pink and then clear as the rain began to pelt down once again.
My heart was hammering as I peered out of the window, a very much dead magpie lying stomach-up on the footpath. It was a huge one, far larger than normal, and I flipped it off with zero remorse.
"Karma, bitch," I huffed, glancing at myself in the mirror. I looked like a mess, scratched up and hair wild. Before driving home, I quickly took a selfie of myself post magpie-swooping survival, posting it to my instagram story.
Because, priorities.
A/N: Disclaimer. I'm not trying to perpetuate the idea that everything in Australia is out to kill you. I'm just saying that magpies may try to kill you.