teenage rebellion


‘And you?’ Raisha’s eyes were warm, generous, drunk. I smiled with a closed mouth, sensing the edge of something. ‘Did you rebel?’

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Warning: this piece contains strong language

“Ownay I.D., boys?” the bouncer growls, eyes narrowing, his face contorted in barely disguised scepticism and amusement. Our arses, as they say, are about to collapse. This is never gonnae work. My friend and I are taking part in that most Scottish rite of passage: underage drinking.

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Ryan the Rebel

Warning: this piece contains very strong language

I’m standing outside the house. The door is locked with the key in it, meaning someone’s intentionally stopping me from getting in. I passed my uncle’s car hidden on the other street. My dad is visiting; I was caught this morning but got off relatively lightly. Time to re-adjust my pants I think.

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Falkirk's Highway to Hell

Bright lights, big city – not words people might not associate with the place, but it was a big deal for my best friend and I to travel into nearby Falkirk. Especially when you’re nine years old and never been on a bus before.

Back in the day, circa 1979. It was a heavy metal quest of gigantic proportions we were destined to take. Yep, my friend and I were head-bangers that required full on metal gear to go with our head-banging antics.

Studded belts, AC/DC patches, Black Sabbath, bleached Cosmic jeans; any piece of kit that turned us into the real deal.

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Hell Bent

Thundering down the stairs in her new Doc Martens Lizzie lurched into the dining room and shouted “that's me away” knowing there wasn't much chance she'd be able to leave without some comment. From the kitchen beyond, where she could hear the distinctive sound of the pressure cooker building up a head of steam, came the call of “wait a minute madam, where do you think you're going?” Her mother emerged from the engine room of the house where she spent most of her time, washing, peeling, chopping, cooking.

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Picasso's Rebel

They entered the cafeteria where everyone was to meet and waved over to this one and that one. She didn’t really get too involved with the other parents and carers…as her own mum said, ‘parents with special needs children are all nutters’ – the implication being that she was included in this assessment of fact. She could see that they were looking at her girl with eyebrows raised, passing judgment on the green haired creature.

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