Thursday, 17 September 2009


We are crazy. Unhinged. No not really. We're fine. Normal. We even went to school today. We were taught Pythagoras' theorem in Math and contour lines in Geography. We zoned out in Science.

At lunch we stood under the blue tarpaulin that hung from the side of the music block, listening to the rain making soft beats that blended with the guitars and drums humming through the wall. Sam lied to us. He told us it would be quiet by the music block 'cos of all the building work, but we heard those guitars and those girls who can't sing for shit. We heard them and boy were we pissed.

We found Sam in the science block. He's always there. He likes that sort of thing; burning shit with Bunsen burners. He's in room 413, his 'safe-haven' he calls it; thinking we can't find him there. Dumb. He's there all the time. We smile when we see him lighting up an old Bunsen under a condenser thingy. As we said, we zone out in science.


Sam jumps, dropping the glass bottle to the floor.

'C'mon guys. Not now. Please. Science is my time. We agreed.'

'You lied to us, Sam. You said the music block would be quiet and it wasn't so our agreement no longer stands.'

'I want to do my experiment. I need to pass this. I'm failing everything else.'

'Not our problem.'

Sam starts banging the table with this fists. He gets angry easily. We smile.

'Now, now Sam. What did that table ever do to you? Take this.'

We hand him a shard of glass from the floor.

'What am I meant to do with it?'

'You know what to do.'

Sam sighs and presses the glass into his arm. We feel his pain but pain is good. Red blood trails over his knuckles, staining skin creases. Blood is better.

Now we're back at Sam's house. We go up to his room. He's at his desk trying to finish homework. We start poking him.

'Leave me alone,' he says.

It is so easy to wind him up.

'C'mon Sam. Live a little. You said yourself, you're failing. Why bother trying?'

Frowning, Sam raises from his seat and starts marching the room. Back and forth. Back and forth. We feel dizzy.

'I don't want you here. You're always here. Always here. Go!'

We laugh. Sam starts shouting loudly, bashing his fist against his temples.

'Get out! I can't take this anymore! Stop laughing. Get out!'

We like it when Sam is like this. His face goes all red, eyes go hazy, and he starts twitching and shit. Then his mum bursts into the room with that worried face again. She never changes, always worried.

'Sam! What's wrong? Who are you talking to?'

Sam looks at us, quickly. We press our fingers to our lips.

'No one mum. Just talking to myself.'

And we're the crazy ones...


  1. Thanks for following my blog! And thanks for the advice on my love life. :) I really liked this entry and I read some of your others. I enjoy the way you write and your honesty. Looking forward to reading what you have to say in the future!


  2. prelude to schitzophrenia...he's in a danger zone now..someone help him please.

  3. Very nice. I enjoyed this post, particularly the ending.

  4. Thanks for the comments everyone! I'm really pleased (and pleasantly surprised) that you seem to understand the story. My creative writing tutor loved it but missed the point completely! So YAY you get it! Woohoo! :)

  5. I enjoyed reading this just now. Good job. I'd actually like to see this fleshed out into a longer story.

  6. nice story, nice blog! i love ray lamontagne, but i do not heart NY. keep up the good work.

  7. wow, great way to bring internalisation to life.


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