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As with most of my stories, this is loosely based on a personal experience, and what happened when I went from Bradford schooling into the heart of Manchester and the whole different culture, though, in my defence, most of teh stuff towards the end isn't true, and I never tried to pull any stunts like the main character in the story does.
Anyway, thanks in advance, and any questions about the story will be anserwed as quickly as I can, and any feedback is appreciated.
Matt
_________
I've watched from the shadows, glared from afar. Peeking around corners, studying them, monitoring their every move, hope, praying that they might notice me, and take me on. The way they walk, the way they talk, the way they laugh, the way they kick.
I don't have many friends. I try to say hello and I'm usually just laughed off by the others. They don't know how it feels. Stuck in their groups, they don't know what it's like to be an from a different place, to try and break the membrane that is social groups. I often walk around by myself, talking, thinking. They don't understand me. I'm an outsider. An Alien.
Sometimes it hurts, you know. It's not the fact that I haven't got any mates, it's the fact that everyone else has. Everyone seems to have an agenda. Must conform, must crush under pressure, must abuse those lesser than I. Nobody wants to offer a lifeline, nobody wants to open my cage and set me free. As much as I flutter my wings, prune my feathers and sqwak, there always a kid outside, shouting me order in order to get the key.
The language is completely different. Yorkshire is a safe place of long As', slow talking and slang. Manchester, in comparison, is full of 'earyar's, speedy talking and opposite slang. How am I supposed to know if someone calling my work 'bad' is a compliment or an insult if it means both? They seem to take sick perverse pleasure in watching me squirm as I try to understand them, the culture and how to act. I don't want to be a puppet. I want to be free. Free from the shackles, free from the teasing and allowed to be myself, rather than the awkward little boy they're making me out to be.
My only hope is conformity. I've been watching for long enough, now. I know the uniform, I know the style. Short hair, Rockports, Cartoon socks. I don't want to be one of them, but I'm stuck in a corner with no choices, no friends and only one way out. If I can't be myself, then I might as well be someone else with friends, people who'll stick up for me when the year 11's decide it's time for the fat kid with the big ears from Yorkshire to be humiliated. I just want respect, and to be left alone.
The plan has to be started soon. I have to set the ball rolling before it becomes too late, too obvious - if the fat kid starts wearing flashy gear half way into the year, it'll be too obvious, and all I'll be is an overweight with shoes that a;ll the other kids will try to nick in PE. I don't want a repeat of the pants down the urinal incident - Mother is already highly suspicious about it all, and anymore alerts and she's promised it's a trip to the headmasters office, which will automatically equal beats for the mummys boy.
I've got my coat. Kappa. I'm not very good with pictures, so all I could remember was that all the kids wore black. Only I come in the gates to find that it's actually Henry Lloyd what they're wearing, and that my coat is Navy. Maybe I'll be able to convince mother that I lost it at school, and she'll be able to get me a new one? I stuff it behind the radiator and pray for the best.
I get home and it's hell. School phoned up. Found my name and number in the coat, and the teacher saw me hiding it. I'm trapped even more than I was before, with the towering figure of my Mother looming over me. When the chips are down, when your backs against the wall, when there's no reasonable way out, there's only one thing to do. Cry. I burst into tears, crumpling my Mothers frock. 'I just wanted to be one of them, Mother... One of them...'
Anyway, thanks in advance, and any questions about the story will be anserwed as quickly as I can, and any feedback is appreciated.
Matt
_________
I've watched from the shadows, glared from afar. Peeking around corners, studying them, monitoring their every move, hope, praying that they might notice me, and take me on. The way they walk, the way they talk, the way they laugh, the way they kick.
I don't have many friends. I try to say hello and I'm usually just laughed off by the others. They don't know how it feels. Stuck in their groups, they don't know what it's like to be an from a different place, to try and break the membrane that is social groups. I often walk around by myself, talking, thinking. They don't understand me. I'm an outsider. An Alien.
Sometimes it hurts, you know. It's not the fact that I haven't got any mates, it's the fact that everyone else has. Everyone seems to have an agenda. Must conform, must crush under pressure, must abuse those lesser than I. Nobody wants to offer a lifeline, nobody wants to open my cage and set me free. As much as I flutter my wings, prune my feathers and sqwak, there always a kid outside, shouting me order in order to get the key.
The language is completely different. Yorkshire is a safe place of long As', slow talking and slang. Manchester, in comparison, is full of 'earyar's, speedy talking and opposite slang. How am I supposed to know if someone calling my work 'bad' is a compliment or an insult if it means both? They seem to take sick perverse pleasure in watching me squirm as I try to understand them, the culture and how to act. I don't want to be a puppet. I want to be free. Free from the shackles, free from the teasing and allowed to be myself, rather than the awkward little boy they're making me out to be.
My only hope is conformity. I've been watching for long enough, now. I know the uniform, I know the style. Short hair, Rockports, Cartoon socks. I don't want to be one of them, but I'm stuck in a corner with no choices, no friends and only one way out. If I can't be myself, then I might as well be someone else with friends, people who'll stick up for me when the year 11's decide it's time for the fat kid with the big ears from Yorkshire to be humiliated. I just want respect, and to be left alone.
The plan has to be started soon. I have to set the ball rolling before it becomes too late, too obvious - if the fat kid starts wearing flashy gear half way into the year, it'll be too obvious, and all I'll be is an overweight with shoes that a;ll the other kids will try to nick in PE. I don't want a repeat of the pants down the urinal incident - Mother is already highly suspicious about it all, and anymore alerts and she's promised it's a trip to the headmasters office, which will automatically equal beats for the mummys boy.
I've got my coat. Kappa. I'm not very good with pictures, so all I could remember was that all the kids wore black. Only I come in the gates to find that it's actually Henry Lloyd what they're wearing, and that my coat is Navy. Maybe I'll be able to convince mother that I lost it at school, and she'll be able to get me a new one? I stuff it behind the radiator and pray for the best.
I get home and it's hell. School phoned up. Found my name and number in the coat, and the teacher saw me hiding it. I'm trapped even more than I was before, with the towering figure of my Mother looming over me. When the chips are down, when your backs against the wall, when there's no reasonable way out, there's only one thing to do. Cry. I burst into tears, crumpling my Mothers frock. 'I just wanted to be one of them, Mother... One of them...'
Nice to have somebody basing a story part way in reality for once.
Mattholomew is getting better, as FFF said. Perhaps needed a little more to it, but a good story in all. Maybe the alien theme is a little stereotpyical, but then again, it's the most fitting. Not totally sure how the sublime fits in, but (AGAIN!) it's not my story.
:)
Mattholomew is getting better, as FFF said. Perhaps needed a little more to it, but a good story in all. Maybe the alien theme is a little stereotpyical, but then again, it's the most fitting. Not totally sure how the sublime fits in, but (AGAIN!) it's not my story.
:)
I think I've run out of posotive words, just having read every other entry. So, let's repeat:
Wonderful, very nice.
Matteh is becoming quite the writer.
Wonderful, very nice.
Matteh is becoming quite the writer.
Oh Gods. You could have warned me that it was a horror story! I loved school but always felt sorry for the new kid trying to fit in. If that's can be what it's like I'm glad I was never the new kid.
I felt that. Good one. School... I didn't like school.
Timmargh wrote:
> Crikey - that almost had me in tears!
That bad, eh? :)
Anyways, as Ashman has noticed, I just write from personal experience (with a few differences - like the child in this conformed, whereas I just rebelled in my own way), which means I can actually pour my emotions intoit, rather than trying to put myself in someone else situation (which I'm traditionally rubbish at)
Thanks for the feedback, people. Keep it coming!
> Crikey - that almost had me in tears!
That bad, eh? :)
Anyways, as Ashman has noticed, I just write from personal experience (with a few differences - like the child in this conformed, whereas I just rebelled in my own way), which means I can actually pour my emotions intoit, rather than trying to put myself in someone else situation (which I'm traditionally rubbish at)
Thanks for the feedback, people. Keep it coming!
Crikey - that almost had me in tears!
Good stuff.
Good stuff.
A very well written "joining a school" story, as i really did feel for the main character (I'm getting too soft) very good story as usual Matt, well done.
A very lively but yet sinister tale of entering a new school, which really made me sympathise with the main character greatly. When tracing back to your original statement about the piece, I very glad that this was "not completely true", and I think that says it all.
Good piece, normal matteh, but lovable matteh all the same.
Thumbs up.
Good piece, normal matteh, but lovable matteh all the same.
Thumbs up.
As with most of my stories, this is loosely based on a personal experience, and what happened when I went from Bradford schooling into the heart of Manchester and the whole different culture, though, in my defence, most of teh stuff towards the end isn't true, and I never tried to pull any stunts like the main character in the story does.
Anyway, thanks in advance, and any questions about the story will be anserwed as quickly as I can, and any feedback is appreciated.
Matt
_________
I've watched from the shadows, glared from afar. Peeking around corners, studying them, monitoring their every move, hope, praying that they might notice me, and take me on. The way they walk, the way they talk, the way they laugh, the way they kick.
I don't have many friends. I try to say hello and I'm usually just laughed off by the others. They don't know how it feels. Stuck in their groups, they don't know what it's like to be an from a different place, to try and break the membrane that is social groups. I often walk around by myself, talking, thinking. They don't understand me. I'm an outsider. An Alien.
Sometimes it hurts, you know. It's not the fact that I haven't got any mates, it's the fact that everyone else has. Everyone seems to have an agenda. Must conform, must crush under pressure, must abuse those lesser than I. Nobody wants to offer a lifeline, nobody wants to open my cage and set me free. As much as I flutter my wings, prune my feathers and sqwak, there always a kid outside, shouting me order in order to get the key.
The language is completely different. Yorkshire is a safe place of long As', slow talking and slang. Manchester, in comparison, is full of 'earyar's, speedy talking and opposite slang. How am I supposed to know if someone calling my work 'bad' is a compliment or an insult if it means both? They seem to take sick perverse pleasure in watching me squirm as I try to understand them, the culture and how to act. I don't want to be a puppet. I want to be free. Free from the shackles, free from the teasing and allowed to be myself, rather than the awkward little boy they're making me out to be.
My only hope is conformity. I've been watching for long enough, now. I know the uniform, I know the style. Short hair, Rockports, Cartoon socks. I don't want to be one of them, but I'm stuck in a corner with no choices, no friends and only one way out. If I can't be myself, then I might as well be someone else with friends, people who'll stick up for me when the year 11's decide it's time for the fat kid with the big ears from Yorkshire to be humiliated. I just want respect, and to be left alone.
The plan has to be started soon. I have to set the ball rolling before it becomes too late, too obvious - if the fat kid starts wearing flashy gear half way into the year, it'll be too obvious, and all I'll be is an overweight with shoes that a;ll the other kids will try to nick in PE. I don't want a repeat of the pants down the urinal incident - Mother is already highly suspicious about it all, and anymore alerts and she's promised it's a trip to the headmasters office, which will automatically equal beats for the mummys boy.
I've got my coat. Kappa. I'm not very good with pictures, so all I could remember was that all the kids wore black. Only I come in the gates to find that it's actually Henry Lloyd what they're wearing, and that my coat is Navy. Maybe I'll be able to convince mother that I lost it at school, and she'll be able to get me a new one? I stuff it behind the radiator and pray for the best.
I get home and it's hell. School phoned up. Found my name and number in the coat, and the teacher saw me hiding it. I'm trapped even more than I was before, with the towering figure of my Mother looming over me. When the chips are down, when your backs against the wall, when there's no reasonable way out, there's only one thing to do. Cry. I burst into tears, crumpling my Mothers frock. 'I just wanted to be one of them, Mother... One of them...'
Anyway, thanks in advance, and any questions about the story will be anserwed as quickly as I can, and any feedback is appreciated.
Matt
_________
I've watched from the shadows, glared from afar. Peeking around corners, studying them, monitoring their every move, hope, praying that they might notice me, and take me on. The way they walk, the way they talk, the way they laugh, the way they kick.
I don't have many friends. I try to say hello and I'm usually just laughed off by the others. They don't know how it feels. Stuck in their groups, they don't know what it's like to be an from a different place, to try and break the membrane that is social groups. I often walk around by myself, talking, thinking. They don't understand me. I'm an outsider. An Alien.
Sometimes it hurts, you know. It's not the fact that I haven't got any mates, it's the fact that everyone else has. Everyone seems to have an agenda. Must conform, must crush under pressure, must abuse those lesser than I. Nobody wants to offer a lifeline, nobody wants to open my cage and set me free. As much as I flutter my wings, prune my feathers and sqwak, there always a kid outside, shouting me order in order to get the key.
The language is completely different. Yorkshire is a safe place of long As', slow talking and slang. Manchester, in comparison, is full of 'earyar's, speedy talking and opposite slang. How am I supposed to know if someone calling my work 'bad' is a compliment or an insult if it means both? They seem to take sick perverse pleasure in watching me squirm as I try to understand them, the culture and how to act. I don't want to be a puppet. I want to be free. Free from the shackles, free from the teasing and allowed to be myself, rather than the awkward little boy they're making me out to be.
My only hope is conformity. I've been watching for long enough, now. I know the uniform, I know the style. Short hair, Rockports, Cartoon socks. I don't want to be one of them, but I'm stuck in a corner with no choices, no friends and only one way out. If I can't be myself, then I might as well be someone else with friends, people who'll stick up for me when the year 11's decide it's time for the fat kid with the big ears from Yorkshire to be humiliated. I just want respect, and to be left alone.
The plan has to be started soon. I have to set the ball rolling before it becomes too late, too obvious - if the fat kid starts wearing flashy gear half way into the year, it'll be too obvious, and all I'll be is an overweight with shoes that a;ll the other kids will try to nick in PE. I don't want a repeat of the pants down the urinal incident - Mother is already highly suspicious about it all, and anymore alerts and she's promised it's a trip to the headmasters office, which will automatically equal beats for the mummys boy.
I've got my coat. Kappa. I'm not very good with pictures, so all I could remember was that all the kids wore black. Only I come in the gates to find that it's actually Henry Lloyd what they're wearing, and that my coat is Navy. Maybe I'll be able to convince mother that I lost it at school, and she'll be able to get me a new one? I stuff it behind the radiator and pray for the best.
I get home and it's hell. School phoned up. Found my name and number in the coat, and the teacher saw me hiding it. I'm trapped even more than I was before, with the towering figure of my Mother looming over me. When the chips are down, when your backs against the wall, when there's no reasonable way out, there's only one thing to do. Cry. I burst into tears, crumpling my Mothers frock. 'I just wanted to be one of them, Mother... One of them...'