"Come in" croaked the voice from inside the room.
I walk in, already accepting my fate from the moment that I hear the old crone speak. It's a choice between walking straight into her lair or turning and running but, having just collapsed while running in PE, I decide that the first option is probably the best idea. I walk into the overly warm room, ignoring the faint buzz of the electric heater and move straight over to the old woman. The school nurse, Mrs Hedge, has been working at Parry Mount Secondary School for longer than anybody - or certainly any student - can remember. It is rumoured that she is in fact an ancient vampire who began her work at the school when it was founded in 1827 and has worked here ever since. I don't believe that, but only because vampires are supposed to look young forever. Her face is lined with more wrinkles than I can count and her hair is the kind of silver grey that suggests that once, a long time ago, she could have been blonde. Despite her age she is tall and very thin and closely resembles a strange pale spider. "I collapsed on the athletics track, miss," I told her.
"Again?" I can see her roll her eyes as she turns to her computer.
"Yes, miss"
"Sit down and put your head between your knees. You'll be fine," The worst thing about being ill frequently is that eventually, after two or three closely timed visits to the nurse's room, teachers stop believing that you're really ill. They think that the reason that you are pretending to be ill is that you want to escape from the prison that is school. They think that the answer to Simon Bolivar's question "Damn it, how will I ever get out of this Labyrinth of suffering?" is "By pretending to be ill, of course". I disagree but sit down and put my head between my knees for the sake of simplicity. "Want me to call your parents?"
"No thanks, miss."
"You don't have much to say, do you?" I think about this for a few seconds. In fact the reason I don't have much to say is because I have much more to think about. René Descartes said "I think therefore I am" So by that logic, the more you think the more you are. I must be a lot of whatever I am.
"No miss." She rolls her eyes again and goes back to her computer, typing something. I sit there thinking about how boring my life is. While other boys my age are vandalising public property, getting drunk and having sex I'm reading and rereading novels by authors that only interest my parents. I am a rebel.
YOU ARE READING
Living For The Fog
Teen FictionWhen a death-bringer fog begins to spread over the Earth, there's nothing Casey can do but try to fit in with everybody else and pretend that everything is fine. However, when the fog nears Britain, there is a small shred of hope that Casey may not...
