The Day I Died And Woke Up In Hell
You could say that day is also today. I have never once thought about expressing myself online in the form of an article. Notice how I specifically said “In the form of an article”. I have made feeble attempts elsewhere but to no prevail. Usually I let Derek scream at me for a bit and not let me write any me. Derek is the name, that as of writing this article, I have decided to name my inner critic. What a delightfully appropriate name for something that causes me so much daily turmoil.
EXT. SCHOOL FIELD
We see HARRY (8), walking down a desolate school field. There is an eerie silence and dread that fills the air.
INT. CLASSROOM
A small room with horrible cute drawings spewed all over the walls. The room is filled with lots of small children.
TEACHER
And that is why X, my dears is X.
The class of children nod —
Harry bursts into the classroom. A glassy look has taken his eyes.
The teacher stares at him curiously. She starts mumbling
TEACHER
The chosen one. They never said he would never come.
HARRY
Hand me the SMARTBOARD PEN.
The teacher, shaking hands him the pen.
HARRY
Bring up the EQUATION.
The class gasp. The teacher shrieks in shock. The children tend to her.
The pen hovers above Harry’s hand. There is some unnatural force at play. The pen shoots to the board and scribbles markings all over. The pen drops and the force disappears. Silence fills the room.
…FIN
I used to have febrile convulsions when I was younger and it was really interesting, to say the least, waking up in random places with no recollection of what happened to leave me there. When I woke up on that field it was so creepy, I thought something had happened to the school and had left me as sole survivor. I must have had the convulsion during break time and then been so deep in the field that no-one saw me. Everyone had assumed that I had just gone home sick or something. Great investigative work, truly.
I always thought it was crazy, the sheer amount of them that I had. I had 40 between the ages of 1–14. I haven’t had one since but there was a strong thought from doctors that I may have them for the rest of my life. Luckily that doesn’t seem to be the case anymore. But I always look back to it as an interesting and confusing part of my life, knowing that there are so many random blanks in otherwise ordinary stories.
My middle name is Pascal and I am not French. It is a strange life.
