Jamie Walden was bored. He was sitting bolt upright at the dinner table listening to a boring conversation about fuel prices and hairdressing costs, which, of course, he didn't want to be hearing.
"So they're going up by the second! No wonder those peasants down the road are so scruffy," a shrill female voice exclaimed, "And look, Harold, my hair...It's so floppy and brown, definitely could do with a new stylist. That old geezer, Gareth, doesn't do half what I tell him to do! Not worth the money."
He squeezed his eyes shut and thought about snakes. Dying snakes, dead snakes, tortured snakes, deformed snakes.
That calmed him down.
Thinking about torture and pain.
"Jamie, open your eyes at once! I'm ashamed to have you in this household, boy. This is just unacceptable, closing your eyes like that when supper isn't finished. Go to your room at once and don't even think about coming back down," The other participant in the conversation hissed angrily.
With a good reason to get away from his parents, Jamie stiffly shuffled upstairs. His Sunday best was extremely tight so it made him walk funny. Or that's what his cousin, Joshua said. As he walked into his bedroom, he caught a glance of himself in the mirror.
Uncomfortably styled black hair, looking like he had two grand cones on each side of his head, pale skin, quite short, missing index finger on right hand.
