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Oh no. The outside looms.
Door on the handle now. Just push. That’s it you can do it.
The street. Out the gate and into everybody’s territory.
Why am I perspiring and dying to go back in and hide?
Am I the only one who hears them? I can hear people looking at me. There deceptive stares which eyes me up. Every spot, crinkle and bad feature on my body. The judgmental look which tells me all the words they could. The look is so blatant, so dismissive, they hate me so much. You don’t know me. I suppose you have the right to think what I am just by looking at me. I do it too that’s why I’m more scared of what you think. People with loud stares fill their own heads with criticisms and prejudice. The feeling is so loud but their mouths are so quiet. That’s why the looks I get are so loud. I think I’m telepathic with people who hate me. Their thoughts boom into my box and harshly let me know what I must change to be accepted.
Please change the unchangeable if you want to be normal and looked and treated how you would want .
I’m walking down the street now. Look at that window. Behind those blinds in the darkness, a set of eyes are getting their moneys worth. Information is being sent down the optic nerve and a million things are exploding about me in their brain. I can hear it. God I’m pitiful. It’s not my looks but the way I drag my feet. Lets just say that the blinds in the window are made of eyes. For the voices upstairs have multiplied, tenfold.
I don’t think people do travel in time or else we would see some who have come back to this time, today. Maybe they go into the future and get invisibility cloaks beforehand. Surely I’ve grazed the shoulder of an invisible time traveller sometime in my life.
Cars drive by. I like to pretend they are actually doing a drive-by. It’s better to be safe than sorry. People in cars look at me. I keep my head down when walking so I look important or so it looks like I’m thinking. There are loads of cars nowadays. And don’t just think the driver is alone.
A deep voiced gruntface commentates on what I’m doing sometimes. I think it’s me as an old man doing a voice-over for my autobiographical movie I show to God to see if I can get to heaven. The sky isn’t as blue as it used to be.
I never used to realise this when I was a kid. In fact, I don’t remember noticing people in cars or the possibility that the looks behind the curtain nettings are sinister. I got older and learnt how to catch the looks people threw. I remember when I believed in ghosts.
That little boy would hurt me if he found out how scared I get when I just look at houses and people in the streets. “What about monsters and the ones who killed Jamie Bulger?” He’d say.
I wish I was dumb enough to sleep straightaway and get on with me. I’m so clever I care about me in the 5th person.
Door on the handle now. Just push. That’s it you can do it.
The street. Out the gate and into everybody’s territory.
Why am I perspiring and dying to go back in and hide?
Am I the only one who hears them? I can hear people looking at me. There deceptive stares which eyes me up. Every spot, crinkle and bad feature on my body. The judgmental look which tells me all the words they could. The look is so blatant, so dismissive, they hate me so much. You don’t know me. I suppose you have the right to think what I am just by looking at me. I do it too that’s why I’m more scared of what you think. People with loud stares fill their own heads with criticisms and prejudice. The feeling is so loud but their mouths are so quiet. That’s why the looks I get are so loud. I think I’m telepathic with people who hate me. Their thoughts boom into my box and harshly let me know what I must change to be accepted.
Please change the unchangeable if you want to be normal and looked and treated how you would want .
I’m walking down the street now. Look at that window. Behind those blinds in the darkness, a set of eyes are getting their moneys worth. Information is being sent down the optic nerve and a million things are exploding about me in their brain. I can hear it. God I’m pitiful. It’s not my looks but the way I drag my feet. Lets just say that the blinds in the window are made of eyes. For the voices upstairs have multiplied, tenfold.
I don’t think people do travel in time or else we would see some who have come back to this time, today. Maybe they go into the future and get invisibility cloaks beforehand. Surely I’ve grazed the shoulder of an invisible time traveller sometime in my life.
Cars drive by. I like to pretend they are actually doing a drive-by. It’s better to be safe than sorry. People in cars look at me. I keep my head down when walking so I look important or so it looks like I’m thinking. There are loads of cars nowadays. And don’t just think the driver is alone.
A deep voiced gruntface commentates on what I’m doing sometimes. I think it’s me as an old man doing a voice-over for my autobiographical movie I show to God to see if I can get to heaven. The sky isn’t as blue as it used to be.
I never used to realise this when I was a kid. In fact, I don’t remember noticing people in cars or the possibility that the looks behind the curtain nettings are sinister. I got older and learnt how to catch the looks people threw. I remember when I believed in ghosts.
That little boy would hurt me if he found out how scared I get when I just look at houses and people in the streets. “What about monsters and the ones who killed Jamie Bulger?” He’d say.
I wish I was dumb enough to sleep straightaway and get on with me. I’m so clever I care about me in the 5th person.
I'm glad I read that, it was actually really enjoyable, if it a little divulsive. You have to give the audience enough to make them think but not too much, you could've shaved a few of the more direct lines off such as the "I think im telepathic with people who hate me" to make it more effective, but I did enjoy it indeed.
If your self-congratulations weren't so well-placed, I'd probably flog you for foul witchcraft.
How on earth was this missed by everyone?
That was brilliant. Especially the bit with words.
Well done.
That was brilliant. Especially the bit with words.
Well done.
Oh no. The outside looms.
Door on the handle now. Just push. That’s it you can do it.
The street. Out the gate and into everybody’s territory.
Why am I perspiring and dying to go back in and hide?
Am I the only one who hears them? I can hear people looking at me. There deceptive stares which eyes me up. Every spot, crinkle and bad feature on my body. The judgmental look which tells me all the words they could. The look is so blatant, so dismissive, they hate me so much. You don’t know me. I suppose you have the right to think what I am just by looking at me. I do it too that’s why I’m more scared of what you think. People with loud stares fill their own heads with criticisms and prejudice. The feeling is so loud but their mouths are so quiet. That’s why the looks I get are so loud. I think I’m telepathic with people who hate me. Their thoughts boom into my box and harshly let me know what I must change to be accepted.
Please change the unchangeable if you want to be normal and looked and treated how you would want .
I’m walking down the street now. Look at that window. Behind those blinds in the darkness, a set of eyes are getting their moneys worth. Information is being sent down the optic nerve and a million things are exploding about me in their brain. I can hear it. God I’m pitiful. It’s not my looks but the way I drag my feet. Lets just say that the blinds in the window are made of eyes. For the voices upstairs have multiplied, tenfold.
I don’t think people do travel in time or else we would see some who have come back to this time, today. Maybe they go into the future and get invisibility cloaks beforehand. Surely I’ve grazed the shoulder of an invisible time traveller sometime in my life.
Cars drive by. I like to pretend they are actually doing a drive-by. It’s better to be safe than sorry. People in cars look at me. I keep my head down when walking so I look important or so it looks like I’m thinking. There are loads of cars nowadays. And don’t just think the driver is alone.
A deep voiced gruntface commentates on what I’m doing sometimes. I think it’s me as an old man doing a voice-over for my autobiographical movie I show to God to see if I can get to heaven. The sky isn’t as blue as it used to be.
I never used to realise this when I was a kid. In fact, I don’t remember noticing people in cars or the possibility that the looks behind the curtain nettings are sinister. I got older and learnt how to catch the looks people threw. I remember when I believed in ghosts.
That little boy would hurt me if he found out how scared I get when I just look at houses and people in the streets. “What about monsters and the ones who killed Jamie Bulger?” He’d say.
I wish I was dumb enough to sleep straightaway and get on with me. I’m so clever I care about me in the 5th person.
Door on the handle now. Just push. That’s it you can do it.
The street. Out the gate and into everybody’s territory.
Why am I perspiring and dying to go back in and hide?
Am I the only one who hears them? I can hear people looking at me. There deceptive stares which eyes me up. Every spot, crinkle and bad feature on my body. The judgmental look which tells me all the words they could. The look is so blatant, so dismissive, they hate me so much. You don’t know me. I suppose you have the right to think what I am just by looking at me. I do it too that’s why I’m more scared of what you think. People with loud stares fill their own heads with criticisms and prejudice. The feeling is so loud but their mouths are so quiet. That’s why the looks I get are so loud. I think I’m telepathic with people who hate me. Their thoughts boom into my box and harshly let me know what I must change to be accepted.
Please change the unchangeable if you want to be normal and looked and treated how you would want .
I’m walking down the street now. Look at that window. Behind those blinds in the darkness, a set of eyes are getting their moneys worth. Information is being sent down the optic nerve and a million things are exploding about me in their brain. I can hear it. God I’m pitiful. It’s not my looks but the way I drag my feet. Lets just say that the blinds in the window are made of eyes. For the voices upstairs have multiplied, tenfold.
I don’t think people do travel in time or else we would see some who have come back to this time, today. Maybe they go into the future and get invisibility cloaks beforehand. Surely I’ve grazed the shoulder of an invisible time traveller sometime in my life.
Cars drive by. I like to pretend they are actually doing a drive-by. It’s better to be safe than sorry. People in cars look at me. I keep my head down when walking so I look important or so it looks like I’m thinking. There are loads of cars nowadays. And don’t just think the driver is alone.
A deep voiced gruntface commentates on what I’m doing sometimes. I think it’s me as an old man doing a voice-over for my autobiographical movie I show to God to see if I can get to heaven. The sky isn’t as blue as it used to be.
I never used to realise this when I was a kid. In fact, I don’t remember noticing people in cars or the possibility that the looks behind the curtain nettings are sinister. I got older and learnt how to catch the looks people threw. I remember when I believed in ghosts.
That little boy would hurt me if he found out how scared I get when I just look at houses and people in the streets. “What about monsters and the ones who killed Jamie Bulger?” He’d say.
I wish I was dumb enough to sleep straightaway and get on with me. I’m so clever I care about me in the 5th person.