Snakes Don't Bite Their Owners

Peanut Jelly and Butter

So I decided against calling my mother and instead kept wandering along the road.

She already has about 50,000 different apps installed on my phone which she uses to track my every move. It's only a matter of hours before she shows up with a trail of police cars and a pair of extremely furrowed eyebrows.

I might as well enjoy the journey while it lasts. Make the most of this freedom before it's taken away from me forever and I'll be chucked into the basement - with nothing but the clothes on my back and the hair on my head - where I'll be given a stale piece of bread (with moldy cheese on it) every second Friday... or worse: I'll get sent to my crazy aunt's house.

Here's all you need to know about my aunt Helen: She lives in a small town called whimbaaktandil where everybody knows everyone's business... because there are only 6 people living there (5 if you don't count ol' man manchil - he founded the town like 700 years ago and is practically a fossil because nobody ever sees him outside of his daily graveyard visit where he sits like a statue on the one town bench and whispers to people who aren't really there).

My aunt spends her free time spitting into jars of olives and drinking lukewarm water while patting her pet cat 'sniffles' and watching reruns of old quiz shows that she's seen 50 times before and has memorised all the answers to... but pretends she doesn't know what's going on and is, in fact, a general knowledge genius.

There's one other thing about my aunt: she's got some wacky senses.

She's as blind as a bat and never seems to understand a word that comes out of my mouth. However, she often tells me about how my handwriting smells like sour rotting oranges and my favorite songs taste like dog poop. She's probably just jealous she'll never be as cool as I am and cleeeaaaarllly she can't actually be serious... but it's. still. rude. and I absolutely cannot go and stay with this woman.

I guess it's time to start my new life.

I'm going to have to change my name and dye my hair so when there's a big search party and flyers all around the world with my face on them... nobody will recognise me. I'll need a whole new life story too. Maybe I'll lie about my age and tell people I'm an orphan who's been living in the woods with bears for the past 18 years and am now ready to reintroduce myself to civilization.

Or... should I say I'm a secret agent on a special mission to uncover decade old secrets that could lead to the discovery of the cure to world hunger, but in order for my mission to work, my identity, and current - or future - whereabouts' mustn't be shared with anyone unless I deem it necessary.

I guess I can come up with a life story later... Right now, I need a plan. A destination at the very least. I guess it's time to do a bit of research to find out where the nearest abandoned building is, so I can roll out the sleeping bag I packed and set up camp for the night. 

I crouch down in the grass beside an empty intersection and unzip the sack I'd been lugging around with me all afternoon. 

I shove my hand through the fabric and rummage around for my phone. When my fingers don't find it, I assign my eyes to the quest. 

As I stare into the black hole of textbooks and needless other school supplies, the panic inside me rises until I eventually come to the realisation:

This is NOT my schoolbag.