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Chapter 1

𝙼𝚒𝚌𝚎, 𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚖𝚎

It's been seven months since I moved from my picturesque stand-alone home with 2 incredibly supportive parents and the most playful dog. What did I trade it in for? A one-room apartment in East Ham, London. Where I share the contents of my kitchen cupboards with mice and I share my bathroom wall with some of the most persistent black mold in all of England. If this black mold married King Henry VIII, he would have given up on trying to divorce it and just off himself, instead. 

Luckily, I spend most of my time outside of my apartment, rather than inside it. From Monday to Thursday, I am stuck inside a building that is much more hygienic, but just as emotionally exhausting. The London Film School, where I am pursuing my Bachelor's degree in Film, as well as bankruptcy. I suppose there are worse things to spend your money on than a degree, luckily for me, I know what those things are, and I spend lots of money on those as well. 

Exactly 23 minutes from now, I am supposed to present a short film that's supposed to be a prologue to Christopher Nolan's ''Interstellar''. It's meant to be between 25 and 35 minutes long, mine is barely 20, it's meant to be related to Interstellar without being a copy of it, and it's meant to have a banger of a title. The latter I'm still trying to come up with. 19 minutes 'til the showing. Too-short-short-film. No title. No title? No passing grade. No passing grade? Course failure. Course failure? Getting kicked out of LFS. Getting ki- 
My spiraling is halted prematurely by one of my classmates sitting down next to me with a loud sigh. Ravi, a thirty-something with a degree in communication that got him stuck in an office he wanted to blow up. But didn't.

''This assignment sucked,'' He says, unprompted and unasked. ''I don't even like Interstellar.'
I hum in agreement. 

''And the time frame was way too small. I mean- who can make a movie that's supposed to precede Interstellar in three weeks?'' He continues.
I hum in agreement.

''And I saw Marie-Ann practically skipping through the hallway, which means she's going to do amazing, so I'm going to eat rat poison.''
I hum in agreement. 

''Why do you sound so content with me eating rat poison? I thought we were friends?'' He says, pretending to be hurt.

''If you eat rat poison, can I film it at least? I'm sure I can use the material.'' I say. Ravi grins.

''Are you short on time on your film? Again?'' He taunts me. 

''You know me so well, I guess we are friends then.'' I say. 
He leans over to peek on my screen, which is showing a whole bunch of files, the newest one being ''untitled project 127.mov''.

''You haven't even named it man. No wonder your heart's not in it.'' He says and sits back again. 

Even when Ravi is complaining about the assignments like he does now, he always does well. Even if he doesn't do well, he at least does average. Which is a lot more than I can say.
My conversation with Ravi cost me a lot of precious time, and a low humming sound pretending to be a bell rings, letting us know it's time to move to our classroom. I quickly name the file, slap my laptop close, and follow Ravi through the halls.

Everyone in the classroom is chipper, except for me and Mrs Galloway. You can see on her face that she is dreading watching all of these short films, even though we are only with 7 people. Marie-Ann, however, is Mrs Galloway's favourite, and she's not stingy in letting it show.
"Marie, dear, will you start us off?" She asks, her voice like honey.
Marie-Ann is 24 and both very talented and very fortunate. Her dad owns a bodega that does so well it's now a chain. He was able to pay for Marie-Anns tuition without being able to skip crumpets with his tea. The full tuition for our degree is 65.000 pounds. Which is 75.000 euros. Which is way too fucking much.

Marie-Ann's movie starts and the visual effects are exceptional, her dad must've sold a lot of sandwich and coffee combos for that. The story is about a man and woman who own a farm, the first one whose crops are destroyed by the blight and dust storms. The film, even though only 34 minutes long, goes through unmeasurable heartbreak and perseverance, people are tearing up and laughing all the same. I feel bad for the person who has to go next.

Marie-Ann sits down after receiving a thunderous applause and Mrs Galloway's eyes scan the room, I don't meet her eyes, I sink into my chair, I do anything except running out of the classroom to try and make myself dissapear- but it is of no use. Mrs Galloway was an executioner in her past life, and she still enjoys watching people die inside.

"Mr Creamer," she says, butchering my last name. "I'd love to see what you've got for us today." Her voice is no longer honey-sweetened, it's more like a cheese grater on a pebble.

I get up and drag myself over to the television screen and fumble on the laptop attached to it to set up my movie. I click on the file named "Loops".
My short film is about one of the pilots who went on the mission to find a new habitable planet before Cooper and his team did so- and the tragic ending. The pilot gets stuck in a time loop and is forced to relive their whole life, unendingly, forever.

Mrs Galloway is not impressed.
There is no applause when my movie finishes, and she simply says; "Thank you Mr Creamer."

We watch the rest of the movies in silence, and while I'm sure my classmates did wonderful jobs, all I can think about is how the hell I'm going to ever get my degree. I mull and worry and wonder how many pints it's going to take for me to get over this fiasco.

Almost 5 hours later all of the short films have been watched and we are freed from the prison we pay to be in. Ravi starts talking to me, in what I assume to be an attempt to hang out after class, but I am practically sprinting out of the building. I shout to him that I'll text him over the weekend, but I probably won't.

I take the underground and then a bus to my neighbourhood, but where I'm supposed to go up the stairs to my apartment, instead, I walk straight into the pub that sits below my home. It's 19:54, which is relatively early, but if I've learned anything from dissecting Interstellar, it's that time is a hoax.

I sit down on a barstool, which creaks under the sudden weight, and patiently wait for my best friend to show up. A little while later he comes out of the back room- tall, muscular, lush brown hair and his sun-kissed, olive skin. Malik Zouhair, my best friend and the greatest bartender I've ever known. Though my knowledge of bartenders is quite limited.

He came to England with his aunt and uncle after his parents died of causes he doesn't want to share with me- his most loyal customer. When they moved, he was only a baby, and the family he came with was never big on their cultural heritage. So even though he doesn't look English, nor have a very Anglican name, Malik is as English as they come.

"Lucas!" He says with a heavy London accent. "I was wondering where you were, you usually bless me with your company so early in the day." He says, and while any other customer would think he's being sincere, I spot the sarcasm in his voice.

"I was being tortured," I dramatically say. "Had to beg them to let me go."

Malik laughs and starts pouring me a pint. "It sounds like you're going to cost me a whole pitcher." He says and puts the glass down in front of me. I eagerly grab it and drink as much as I can before my body starts to protest, requesting air over alcohol.

"The Brits are influencing you, Lucas." He says, watching me gulp the beer.

"Trust me, they drink like this in the Netherlands as well." I say to him, trying not to pant. I drink the remainder with a bit more patient and daydream of my home and family while Malik tends to the rest of his crowd.

I remember leaving my home like I left yesterday. My mother's expression when I told her I wanted to go. The way my father hugged me for the last time, trying to make it a manly hug, but not wanting to let go of me at the same time.
Days like these, where my failure at school is painfully obvious, and I'm too far in my head to socialize with people, are truly the most difficult.
So instead, I drink until my mind shuts off, and I know that Malik will always take me home.