Belfast Bell (Atlantic)

A Story by Abishai100

Adaptation of the Neil Jordan offbeat (Irish) gem about inventions in self-control failure 'awareness' yielding an Earth 'space' expression for outright human distances wiring.

Fanfiction of The Butcher Boy (Neil Jordan), with an adapted storyline. Great story (hope you like it),

DISCLAIMER: This work of adaptation contains images/references with no commercial/explicit ties to any representative person(s)/body (e.g., Belfast) and is therefore cast as purely a 'personal' expression for social arts (for 'open' interpretations).

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My mom and dad moved us to Belfast, because my dad got a government position with the UK and displeased me, since I read of the 'troubles' and didn't want that complication in my life to add to the home-life 'truth' that father (Emit) suffered from alcoholism. This was not to be my desired self-awareness in my Selfie-culture world age of lifestyle linked toys/consumerism/street-transit confidence!

I took up a position in Belfast after college at a telephone company, and I was happy in my work and started to make-eyes with the visiting office space maid/floor-cleaner ('Ezzy'), which is when my mother committed suicide (depression), leaving me home-alone to deal with alcoholic father (damn). However, Ezzy was to be my savior, and my office suddenly made me feel like distances for the psyche would be complemented by intelligent exchanges in customs and bound Romanticism (sure).

EZZY: You made this Xmas-consumerism parody-avatar doodle ("Evil_Elf")...for me?
ME: You're making me feel Escapism can be natural, for negotiating work/home, darling!

EZZY: I fear you're coming undone about our Belfast-life (conditions?).

ME: I don't need therapy, darling; I met a co-worker with strange ties to IRA/UVF (something).

EZZY: That fella whom you mentioned was talking something eco-capitalism?

ME: This Xmas-avatar shall release us from your maid-ceilings and my emigrant-unhappiness.

EZZY: How's it?

ME: With a 'distance' for sportsmanship-like capitalism 'consciousness' activity (folk-arts!).

EZZY: That's neat (Facebook-like).

This isn't a happy-tale but a dark Belfast (UK) faerie-tale, friends, which I'm writing from my criminal-insanity incarceration center in Northern Ireland for a time-capsule (21st-Century Earth). Ezzy did bring sunshine into my awful emigrant-life tale, but I came undone, as she feared/warned, and I turned to that IRA/UVF co-worker at my telephone company who persuaded me to think that the local bank in Northern Ireland was holding rumored-insured 'blood-diamonds' from African shores by a company with labor/resource extraction-and-corruption hype. I decided to become a 'self-made' vigilante, overcome by coming-home every night from work, not to Ezzy, but to my alcoholic father (Emit). I found myself getting too too deep into the very-same world of 'folk-art' that would help me lift-off from UK-Hell.

BANK MANAGER: He took the Ion-gems and some of the notes (Ion).

INTERVIEW: Claimed he was sent by Ion for a masked/costumed 'insurance' theater.

BANK MANAGER: Used his Halloween-theater prop water-toy filled with acid (bathroom-made).

INTERVIEW: Swapped the treasures/items with glass-animal toys (eco-capitalism?).

BANK MANAGER: We'd prefer no Halloween/Ion 'eco-capitalism' nonsense ABCD for Belfast-street.

INTERVIEW: Surely dodecahedrons...not UK-football!

Post-laurels for 'eco-capitalism prank' in Belfast (UK), I thought about flying-away to the other side of the Atlantic, back to Boston-town, which was more of a 'home' for my acquired Catholic faith as an Earthling (damn). I already knew I failed Ezzy, who was my only-love in this awful life as the 'Butcher-Boy' of inherited Earth space awarenesses. No telephone would cure this form for manic disasters.