The Fwits: a novel by Kent Maddock

Denholm J Fwit was 16yo and pretty tired of being a Fwit.

His parents – Coleman J Fwit and Melony H Fwit weren’t, indeed they were proud of being Fwits, as was their daughter and Denholm’s younger sister Trinity R Fwit, well she used it when needed.

The Fwits were a feature of Sydney society scenes. They arrived at the big charity events in their Bentley (Rolls are so pretentious and passe said Mr Fwit) as they never felt either of the Audis had enough room when they were all dressed up. They did however donate 15% of their income (mainly so people would know their income).

Denny (as his friends called him,) was always the last to emerge from the car, looking apologetic, much to his parents' annoyance – he should always hold his head high – like Trinity who was enjoying the attention of the cameras and onlookers.

The Fwit fortune had been made in tobacco. Not just local cigarettes, but imported cigars, as well. Everything our ancestors did (only a few generations not the 70000 plus years some had been in Australia) was legal insisted Coleman J huffily, it's not like we made people smoke. Denny hated his family background and found his parents shallow and materialistic – the “just business” excuse rang hollow for a teen stuck in a life of anxiety over Climate Change, Nuclear war, anti-woke sociopaths and much more. He just wanted to live his life kindly and quietly. He had to his hide his true ambitions from “Cole and Mel”, or they would have hit the roof! Art was his passion, especially Anime – a pop art form especially in Asia, but now the world over.

Coleman and Melony were oblivious to this (a state they frequently occupied), assuming like most boys, he would be a lawyer, engineer or at very least (and they meant least) a Realtor. Doctors were a little too smart for their own good, and often needlessly altruistic, so were to be distrusted. “Mind you some of those cosmetic surgeons make good money <pause> so  I hear” laughed Mel when her girls were nearby. These girls played tennis (badly Denny knew) or prepared charity functions together.

Today the Fwits were preparing their home – or at least directing others on how to prep it – for a “small function” for the Sydney Anglican Diocese (Denny called it SAD, much to his parents fury) – only 150 people. At $5000 per head, it was set to raise some good money for the Church Development Fund. Later in the evening, a band would play and auctions held for various items such as weekends away to the Northern Beaches (had to be in the Diocese you see announced Cole).

Denny was dreading the evening – a house full of judgemental, boring adults who thought asking him how school was, told him what youth ministry should be doing, and the brave ones even telling him to steer clear of non- Christian girls (ie anyone who didn’t go to SAD churches) who may offer him physical favours or even marijuana!!

The horrible event was only a week away now, could he pretend to get sicker and sicker? Could he find another occasion? Doubtful!