One Man's Secrets

I know that the Head of Humanities and Mr. Haldridge are making out in the cupboard across from where I sit next to the door in maths. I know because I can hear them. They are being very quite, two locked doors and corridor width away, but their thoughts are deafening.

Want you in me.

Want to hear you gasp when I take you.

I can hear everyone's thoughts. Behind me, Tim is dreaming of being outside playing football, he's one of the few in this class of fourteen year olds without lewd thoughts. The teacher is thinking of bending one of the girls in the front row over his desk. I can hear them in other classrooms too, out across the hall and in the rooms above.

Uh... god it hurts...

... So tight... fuck.

It's like overhearing things you shouldn't or reading someone's journal. All these whispered secrets of betrayal. Social politics of the playground. Adults that are more innocent than some of my peers. It's only when I mention things I shouldn't that there is bloodshed. Home time with bruises and once a broken bone. Parents don't care, and everyone thinks I'm spying on them.

Deeper, deeper, harder, faster, faster, please...

Keep quiet, so hot, god I want...

What does silence sounds like? I wonder what it's like to be oblivious. And no one believes me, why would they? I stopped trying to impress long ago, I don't want to end up being taken away for experiments. I'll stay secret for now, and listen to everyone else think too loud.

The pair in the storage cupboard climax together, clean each other up. A man, tall and slim, comes out holding a block of printer paper and looking composed, walks away, leaving Mr. Haldrige half dressed and slumped against the shelves, panting.

We're both thinking the same thing.

I can't survive being used like this much longer.

Another Man's curse

Blood comes dripping down my wrists, puddling on the floor, white lino stained.

I'm sitting in a classroom, staring out of the window at the building over the way. An old chapel, it belongs to the school. I imagine it over there, cool white stone would create the most beautiful echoes, amplify the smallest noises. A frieze on the wall facing me, man with a shield. Behind it, the clouds trudge, greyish like dirty wool, across a whiter sky.

Claret tracks across my skin, no one notices the steady dripping.

Between me and that little hallowed places stands a low fence and a small tree. The whole scene is quaint, steady and quiet. And here in this classroom all I can hear are the deafening thoughts of others over their voices, all oblivious to the blood falling from my fingers to the floor. I fear I may die and the last thing I shall hear is the boy in the seat next to me fantasizing about unlikely sex.

The cuts do not hurt, the blood falling, falling...

My life is draining out of me, my memories, my soul. I will end this lesson, an empty shell. I am a vessel for all their thoughts, their secrets, their sins. I am but a child who knows too much.

I can hear, in some distant corner of my mind, Mr. Haldridge's voice, loud and full of worry and concern, but fogged by the cotton wool in my ears.

Luka! Luka!

I slump sideways, falling to the floor, knowing that my own blood is staining my hair.

Luka! Luka!

It doesn't matter anymore. His secret is safe with me.

An Angel's Gifts

I wake staring at a white ceiling. There is murmuring from a distance, not voices, but thoughts. For the first time in my experience most of these thoughts are safe clean and friendly. I know I'm in hospital. The door opens.