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Irene's scribblings...


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A fist hit the side of his face. Pain burst to life in his head. The hallway echoed with laughter as he tumbled and fell. He hurried to his feet and ran for it. Behind him he heard five pairs of footsteps beginning to follow him. He ran, ran, ran for his life. His thoughts raced along with his feet. Why him, why always him?

His followers seemed to gain on him, but suddenly seemed to fall back. He sped up. At the end of the hall, the opened doors welcomed him like an old friend. Through the agony in his head he felt relief. Out there in the yard he would ditch them.

He ran.

Out of nowhere a foot appeared, hooked around his shins, sent him flying. He curled up as the solid wall across the hall hurtled towards him at a sickening speed, trying to make the impact as painless as possible, trying to prevent himself from crashing into the concrete headfirst. Still the crash knocked the breath out of his lungs. He lay there, panting. Above him, a head appeared. A fat face stared at him, grinning maliciously.


He got to his feet, quick as lightning, his eyes glittering with rage. Surprised as they were, his bullies never saw it coming. He hit the fat guy right on his nose. The guy yelled in pain, covering his nose with his hands. “What are you doing?!” he yelled, cowering into a corner. His friends ran for it. “Sort yourself out dude!”. Daniel threatened to punch him again. The boy let out a squeak, suddenly not so frightening anymore, seeming small and vulnerable. “Don’t you touch me again, ever, leave me alone!” he shouted into the face that made his everyday life a living hell. Everyone in the hallway stood still, surprised, as the boy ran away, his hands to his nose.


“Always watch where you’re going, Dannyboy.” His accomplices howled with laughter.

They walked away, laughing. He heard one of them say: “He’s such a loser.”

He felt his nose starting to bleed. He sat up and put his baggy sleeve to his nose to stop the blood from dripping all over him.

A hand appeared. He looked up, scared, afraid to see more pain coming. Instead, a pair of icy blue eyes looked at him, questioning. A small brown-haired girl stood in front of him. She helped him up, gave him a handkerchief, dusted off his clothes and walked away.


He shouted after her. “Wait, hold up!” He fell into pace with her. “Why are you helping me? No one ever does that.” She smiled. “And I don’t even know your name,” he stuttered. “I’ll tell you if you buy me a drink, Dannyboy.” He grinned. They walked through the open doors.


He stood there, the handkerchief to his nose, astonished.

He never noticed the scars on her wrists.


They’d cornered him. He tried to cover his head in his arms to defend himself from the worst blows. Someone kicked him in his stomach, and again, and again. He doubled over and threw up. They backed off. “Gross, what do you think you’re doing, you idiot?!” a voice yelled. He couldn’t see who it was and he couldn’t care less. They closed in on him again. He pretended to vomit again, they backed away. Suddenly, through his tears, he saw a hole in their formation, he saw the moon shining through it. He pulled his woolen hat further over his eyes, made retching noises. They stayed where they were. As quick as possible he leapt at them, made for the opening and ran, again. They didn’t move.


He darted around a corner, and another one, and another one. He sunk against a wall and cried. He couldn’t remember how many times they’d beaten him up.

He’d lost count today, for the first time in years.

He heard his father’s voice echo in his head, saying how he’d never be a man, how he should stand up for himself. He recalled the countless occasions on which he’d tried to tell him that standing up for yourself is impossible when there’s about ten guys around you kicking the crap out of you, but it never seemed to hit home. He tried to tell him how they made his life a hell, tried to tell him how they hunted him home, shouting and swearing, throwing stuff at him, tried to tell him how they stole his allowance every first of the month, how he lost focus on schoolwork.

His dad thought he was a lazy, good-for-nothing whimp.


He got up.

There were emergency stairs leading to the roof of a school building.

He climbed the wire fence surrounding the school grounds.

Climbed the steps, one by one.

His baggy pants got stuck behind something sharp.

Tore them free, tore his jeans.

Walked on.


He reached the top of the building, looked out on the roof. The treetops moved slowly in the breeze. It was a cold night. Slowly, he walked to the edge of the roof. Looking down, he saw the building had to be at least eight stories high. The concrete below seemed ages away. Looking up, he saw the stars. A lonely cloud drifted lazily past a clear sky. The wind tugged at his shirt.

He turned around. Felt the letter in his pocket. He pulled off his hat and stuffed it into his back pocket. Closed his eyes.



He leaned backwards against nothing.

Felt himself lie down in the sky.

Then he fell.

He opened his eyes. Looked up to heaven.

Always watch where you’re going, Dannyboy.

Well, at least he’d done that.

The floors zipped by in seconds, he felt the anxious feeling in his chest that you get at a high speed, like in a rollercoaster.

He couldn’t breathe, wanted to shout, wanted to feel again.


He hit the ground. He felt his backbone snap like a twig, felt a tingling sensation in his fingers. He felt something warm starting to drip down the side of his face. With the blood, the life, all the pain left his body. He smiled.


He opens his eyes again. A pair of icy-blue eyes in a tired face looks at him.

She puts out her hand. Suddenly he sees the long scars running down her wrists. “I was eleven.” she says softly. “Don’t. I like you.”

He grabs her hand. They hug.

They walk away into the night.

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Fine. Meanwhile, short poem.




You live inside your mind today

You'd rather fly than drown

You know you're stuck here anyway

Cause it's six flights up with no way down


Someone took away the hope

It's downhill both ways now

In sixth gear, running down the slope

You want to switch but don't know how


You don't believe in fairytales, you never take or give

A smile plastered across your face

The mask will surely win you the race

And inside you'll be, as long as you live.

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A happy poem :nice:


La joie de vivre....(c'est la réponse aux questions stupides)


Dank, dark and saddening rainy days

Lonesome homeless empties his bottle

People return to maddening, sullen ways

Hurrying father cranks up the throttle


Umbrellas move along shiny pavement tiles

Grey simulation of everyday life

Traffic trods dully in rows of miles

Pickpocket sharpens his knife


But somewhere a blind musician plays

A lovely melody for a few coins and a drink

He’ll smile and ask you what you think

And question what kind of dreams you chase


And clears the sky in a minute.

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