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Louise Brealey On Starring In BBC Three’s Upcoming Comedy Such Brave Girls

Such Brave Girls will arrive on BBC iPlayer on 22 November

By Olivia Emily | 3 days ago

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Louise Brealey is perhaps best known for her witty portrayal of lovelorn morgue technician Molly Hooper in Sherlock – but we’re loving her recent comedy work even more. She’ll next be seen in the BBC‘s hotly anticipated comedy Such Brave Girls, coming later this month. Written by Kate Sadler, Louise plays Deb, the matriarch of a dysfunctional family, trying and failing to keep her kamikaze daughters from disaster. We sat down with Louise to hear all about it.

Interview: Louise Brealey

© Leo Staar

Hi Louise, how’s life going at the moment?

Hello! It’s been a busy summer – my new film has been doing the festival circuit so there have been a lot of planes, trains and automobiles.

You’re about to star in BBC’s new series Such Brave Girls – can you give us an elevator pitch for the show?

Two messed-up twenty-something (real-life) sisters [Kat Sadler and Lizzie Davidson] and their total car crash of a mother attempt to navigate their way out of disaster and into love.

You play Deb – can you describe her?

Deb is amazing. She’s a shockingly bad mum who has completely messed up her two Gen Z daughters. I think of her as one of those vending machines at railway stations and swimming pools where you can get a Twix, but all that’s on her shelves is Tough Love.

What was it like playing her?

A terrifying hoot – she has a lot of lines.

How did you get into character/prepare for the role?

I based Deb on a little girl I used to know. You could see every emotion on her face. Guile, rage, confusion, fear. When she was cross, she scowled. When she was delighted, she beamed.

I used my real accent: Northamptonshire. It has softened over the years, so I sound a lot posher now, but it’s how my family speak and I’ve never had the chance to work using it.

Any funny stories from rehearsals or filming?

The scenes requiring our amazing intimacy coordinator, Elle McAlpine, were hysterically funny and genuinely not at all awkward. Poor Paul Bazely who plays Dev may have experienced some chafing.

What is the cast dynamic? Who was your favourite person to work with?

We are like a little family when we are filming. I feel very protective of Kat and Lizzie. And Paul is a wonderful human being and a phenomenal actor.

Are you still in touch with any of your co-stars?

Yes, we message all the time.

Josie (KAT SADLER), Deb (LOUISE BREALEY), Billie (LIZZIE DAVIDSON) in Such Brave Girls. © BBC/Various Artists Limited/James Stack

You’re perhaps best known for your role as Molly in Sherlock. What is that like to look back on?

Bittersweet because I don’t feel we finished it, and we have lost Una Stubbs. But it was incredible to be a part of what was really a phenomenon. It couldn’t happen now with streaming.

Any special memories from the show?

Too many. Having a candle in an egg custard tart (my favourite) on my birthday in Benedict’s trailer… Laughing and laughing with darling Una and Rupert Graves, who is a dreamboat.

You’ve also starred in the likes of Lockwood & Co, Brian and Charles and Back recently. But what has been your favourite project to date?

I loved working on Clique for the BBC a few years back. I got to play a hard-ass Queen Bee university lecturer in power suits who was afraid of no one, and then to completely fall apart. In an Edinburgh accent.

I loved Lockwood & Co. How does it feel for the show to be cancelled after just one series?

I felt so bad for the young cast, the crew, the fans and everyone whose livelihoods depended on the show coming back. It got such fantastic reviews and great viewing figures. I feel like the hoop it had to jump through for the streamer was just too impossibly small.

Any roles in the pipeline that you’re excited about? (If you’re allowed to tell us!)

I’m the lead in a lesbian chicken factory musical film called Chuck Chuck Baby.

Who has been your favourite actor to work with in the past?

This is much too hard. There have been so many that I admired, and some I now call dear friends. But my buddy Jeff Rawle I’ve worked with three times now, and we are trying to make it a fourth.

Which co-star did you learn the most from?

Antonia Pemberton, who played Nanny in Peter Hall’s Uncle Vanya when I was Sonya. She told me not to keep tomatoes in the fridge.

What’s your dream role?

I’m desperate to get back on stage. I’ve been doing film and television for the past seven years, but theatre is my heart and my home.

What’s a genre you’d like to do more of?

I’d like a good horror. I can’t watch them because I’m a scaredy-cat, but I’d love to be in one.

© Leo Staar

Do you get to spend much time at home?

Not enough. I’ve been gadding about.

Do you live in the town or the country? Which do you prefer?

I’ve lived in London since I left university. I live on a hill next to an oak tree, so it feels like we are in the branches. I can never leave London because I’d miss the culture stuff, but I am a woodland creature.

What’s your interior design style?

A mish-mash of old things I’ve found in auctions. Too many books.

How do you find balance in your personal and work lives?

I don’t.

What did you want to be when you were growing up?

An astronaut.

If you could give advice to your 15-year-old self, what would it be?

Don’t sleep with that guy’s flatmate when you are 21.

How can we all live a little bit better?

Choose love.

Anything fun in the pipeline – professionally or personally?

I’m going to run away to a southern European city for January and February to write.

Quick Fire

I’m currently watching… Only Murders in the Building

What I’m reading… We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson

The last thing I watched (and loved) was… Silo. I love Rebecca Ferguson.

What I’m most looking forward to seeing… The Motive and the Cue with Mark Gatiss in the West End because I was away for its National Theatre run.

Favourite film of all time… Don’t Look Now

Favourite song of all time… ‘Disco 2000’ by Pulp

Band/singer I always have on repeat… Leonard Cohen

My ultimate cultural recommendation… Join all the museums and galleries

Cultural guilty pleasure… Overcooked 2. It’s computer game where you run around and try to make kebabs.

What’s next for me is… Walking my dog in Beckenham Place Park – it’s south London’s secret mini Hampstead Heath.

Watch

Louise Brealey stars in Such Brave Girls, on BBC iPlayer from 22 November. bbc.co.uk

[theoniprince]

If you had to pick one name/alias/moniker to go by, fandom-wide, what would it be?

Where, besides Tumblr, can people find you doing fannish things? (Obviously only mention sites and usernames you actually want to be found at. Don’t expose your secret identities on my account.)

What other names have you gone by on these platforms, including Tumblr, if any?

When did you join the IT fandom? And what got you into fandom, to begin with?

What are your favorite ships, or characters, if any, and why? What do they mean to you?

In what ways do you participate in fandom? (ex. Posting memes, reblogging/commenting on content, writing fanfic, making fanart, creating fanmixes, etc.)

Do you have any in-fandom inspirations? Other members of the community that drive you? (And if you have the time/energy, in what ways do they inspire you?)

Name and link some of your favorite works, please!

Do you have any works of your own that you feel particularly proud of, or wish more people would’ve consumed? Please provide links if possible.

Have you ever participated in a fannish event (ie. IT Week, a fic Big Bang) or applied to be a part of a fanzine? If so, which ones, and can you please link them?

Without any form of bashing or lashing out, what is something you feel this fandom is missing?

First of all thank you so much for asking me!!! 8D It was a pleasure to answer all these questions. During this I got quite emotional (haha Stanpat, Eddie). It showed me again how much I love this 8DDD

( I apologize in advance for all misspellings and my sloppy English =_=)

If you had to pick one name/alias/moniker to go by, fandom-wide, what would it be?

Oh, what a start XD I'm not that into nicknames. Generally people using my first name to address me or my username which is mostly onyprince (in reference to a character from Hakuouki) ID Sometimes they say Oni or J(ay) (Nickname for my first name). Do as you wish (though I like ‘J’ the th most) 😉

Where, besides Tumblr, can people find you doing fannish things? (Obviously only mention sites and usernames you actually want to be found at. Don’t expose your secret identities on my account.)

Twitter. But everything I post there is also here. Feel free to follow my account, but you don’t have to. https://twitter.com/oniprince_

What other names have you gone by on these platforms, including Tumblr, if any?

Oniprince_ (Twitter) yeah… you see, I am pretty boring XDDD

When did you join the IT fandom? And what got you into fandom, to begin with?

Actually 23 years ago (haha I am old XD) When I was eleven I saw the miniseries with my cousins for the first time. The horror factor wasn't that important to me or maybe I didn't see it that way. It was more like an adventure story with an unfunny and nasty clown. A group of friends who had to endure an adventure. In any case, it entertained me well, even if I was not aware of some elements like that it’s a story about growing up, friendship, love and all these issues around becoming an adult XDD Then with 13 I read the book. It was a  new experience, and I loved every single word. Over the years I talked with friends and Kingsianer (XD) about it and read it for a second and a third time. At this point I could start a list with things I don’t like about the movies, but I’d rather mention on thing I really appreciate about them: they are a good opportunity for a new generation to explore this universe. Every adaption like the book itself is a reflection of a specific decade and what is more yeah… immortal, universal and diverse than a story about growing up. It was a discussion with a dear friend about book to movie adaptions some weeks ago that probably brought me back to this fandom

Nevertheless there are things from the book I would have loved to see in the movies. Let’s be honest at this point if you want to adapt such a brick of a book you simply have to cut some elements. You can’t please everyone

What are your favorite ships, or characters, if any, and why? What do they mean to you?

Ships:

Stanpat - orz q__q they are such a sweet couple and it is so heartbreaking, they never ever had a real chance to become parents. They would have been excellent parents. Imagine them on a beautiful summer day. They have a picnic with their children and Stan would watch birds with them. He would tell them all about the birds and keeps a journal about their observations with his kids

Reddie - Despite the constant teasing their realtionship seems like a natural, casual und easy thing from the start. And Eddie likes the nicknames. These secret names are like another identity. He can be someone else. They take care of each other. Their relationship is a deeper friendship that runs mostly on an emotional level and is sometimes expressed through small, physical gestures. The chemistry between them is indescribable. It is cute when 90s Eddie immediately starts to giggle as soon as Richie makes a dumb joke at their reunion. And thing about the little moments when Richie pokes Eddie and calls him cute. I am won’t quoting this one passage in the book that leaves much room for speculations, but there is no doubt their special bond is official. In any case, the decision to make Richie gay in the movies gave the ship another push. I don’t complain. I love it. Though I still think Eddie would have been a better option. There are already some scenes in the book which are like an invitation to speculate about his sexualityTheir chemistry is very obvious and believe me, there is nothing I would more appreciate than a happy end for them Q__Q

Benverly  „Your hair is winter fire

                   January embers

                  My heart burns there, too

This is one of sweetest things I have ever read in a book and that is all I need to explain why I love this ship.

Fav, Characters:  Hmm when I read „IT“ for the first time I had a crush on Bill. He ist the born leader and in my childish, pre-teen way found his stuttering cute. There is something about him that cast a spell on you. It is perfectly understandable that he was a role model and an inspiration for his friends – especially for Eddie. In my personal opinion book!Bill ist the best Bill.

Richie - I love this chaotic megane dude. He is this silly type who use jokes, pranks to protect himself. His voices are like safe heaven (the same goes for Bill, whose stuttering almost disappears, when he pretends tob e someone else). He hides himself and his insecurities behind them. It is a shame that he doesn’t know what an impact he had on his friends. Richie seems to never ever shut up and sometimes his trashmouth is still talking, when he better should be quite. And I am famous to fall for funny characters. He can lights up the mood immediately ( and OMG…. I love Harry Anderson in the miniseries. A real entertainer, BUT BILL HADER…. Bill Hader…just to make it clear BILL HADER  did such an amazing job. He rocked the movie and I still think, not just because I love this dude since over a decade, without him… the movie wouldn’t  have been so entertaining)

Eddie - He is in these abusive relationships. First with his mother, who keeps him small and makes him believe that he is weak. At the end her own fears of beeing left behind prevented her son from becoming a self-confident adult. Eddie always thought he is weak and fragile. Although he knows that he doesn’t need all this medication, his childhood experience were the reason for his coping-behavior as an adult – he still uses his inhaler. He married a woman who is like his mother. Mike's call was something of a turning point. Until this call Eddie could not overcome his fears and had to face them again as an adult. I can remember. While reading the book there were several moments of silence and I stopped reading and thought: poor Eddie.

Ultimately, his story is about a hero who surpasses himself, overcomes his fears and by sacrifice himself he protects what is most important to him - his friends. It just touched me. Eddie gave his life for his friends and I think you can say he's my favorite character. His death may be a tragedy, but it was necessary for his character arc. My theory is that Eddie represents someone who has lost track in his life and prefer to stick on old but unhealthy patterns.It is almost like Eddie stands for missed opportunities, but at the same time it is never to late to change something. He is a hero. There are so many things I would like to talk about, therefore I should start an own thread XDDD

Oh and Bev - I could always identify with her (not bc of abuse or domestic violence. My childhood was amazing). She is the only girl around the losers and I was the only girl in my ��favourite clique too. We spent most of our time outside  - it was great. Of course I had other friends (female) as well, but with my boys… it was always special).. As you know as an adult she falls back in old patterns. Her husband is tyrannical man like her father. Again Mike’s call is a turning point.  Maybe the Benverly arc is the most satisfying. I was… I am very happy that Bev got her happy end.

Last but no least - I like Ben, Mike and Stan too. They have all there unique character treats and you sympathize with all of them. The Loser’s club is bunch of adorable idiots who just doing their best to become adults. I think it is normal that their friendship feels more intimate in the book – I highly recommand the book.

In what ways do you participate in fandom? (ex. Posting memes, reblogging/commenting on content, writing fanfic, making fanart, creating fanmixes, etc.)

Mostly fanarts, but recently I thought about posting my own theories and sharing my hcs and random stuff about the characters and the different relations.  

Do you have any in-fandom inspirations? Other members of the community that drive you? (And if you have the time/energy, in what ways do they inspire you?)

The fandom is full of amazing artists and writersand actually it would be a, but i want to name those who inspired me the most (mainly artists – hopefully I copied the links correcty):

https://tonyofthetrees.tumblr.com

https://meowsteryyy.tumblr.com

https://slashpalooza.tumblr.com/ ( you have to check out ‚Loose Ends‘)

https://coldcigarettes.tumblr.com

https://vvanini.tumblr.com/

https://eggocrumbs.tumblr.com

https://twitter.com/10_sgan

https://twitter.com/kasphacked

https://twitter.com/tac_nor

(oh.. the list got longer than expected IDDD)

Do you know this?

https://ragnarozzys.tumblr.com/post/189890790551/those-early-hours-after-a-sleepover-when-you-wake

Have you ever seen something as cozy and cute before I///D? – me neither XD

Trust me they are all worth a visit and I am sure most of us already know them 8D

Do you have any works of your own that you feel particularly proud of, or wish more people would’ve consumed? Please provide links if possible.

My art I provide on tumblr can be found here:

https://theoniprince.tumblr.com/tagged/myart

Honestly I like these the most:

https://theoniprince.tumblr.com/post/649446311120273408/my-first-reddie-sketch-now-scanned-the-quality

https://theoniprince.tumblr.com/post/649548606679007232/close-to-you-now-scanned-with-coloured

https://theoniprince.tumblr.com/post/650697175346593792/hammock-iconic-richie-is-reading-a-monthly

Have you ever participated in a fannish event (ie. IT Week, a fic Big Bang) or applied to be a part of a fanzine? If so, which ones, and can you please link them?

Oh… unfortunately I am not feelin‘ very confident about my own artworks. Sometims I have the feeling I am not creative enough and that my ideas are more or less boring. Nothing special ID Totally dumb – I know. As I mentioned before I came back lately to the fandom… I guess I missed many amazing IT weeks. I participated in some weeks/mainly shipweeks in other fandoms (Yakuza/Ryu ga Gotoku, FFXV) If I find an interesting annoucement I can imagine to participate in the future ; )

Without any form of bashing or lashing out, what is something you feel this fandom is missing?

In general… the fandom is really friendly – I hope so. Lately I have seen some salty comments on different stuff, topics… and well.. I have just an advice: life can be exhausting enough and time is always running. Don’t spend time on things you don’t like. Discussions can esclate quickly and worde can hurt too. So, just thing about before you jump in.

Thanks again! <3

(Special lil sketchy piece of art I did for this ask)

[pendragonfics]

I

Lost Time: Part One | Part Two

Paring: Conner Kent/Reader

Tags: female reader, Poor Reader, high school, Conner Kent has feelings, angst, fluff.

Summary: You're just a poor kid, living out of her parent's caravan in Happy Harbour. Little do you know when a new kid, Conner, arrives at school, your life will never be the same again.

Word Count: 2,531

Current Date: 2018-04-15

Nobody really liked High School. It was, for everyone, an awkward phase in which you were trying to get through unscathed, and you weren’t very good at that. While everyone else was working on being a great cheerleader, a nerdy enough geek, a good jock, or a skilled student. But after school, you didn’t want to burn out in a caravan to be forever forgotten in Happy Harbour, no. You wanted to be an artist, and, while there were the cliques of all sorts, you didn’t fit into the categories.

Thus, you, ________, were a freak.

It was okay, back in freshmen year. But now as a junior, the end in reach, you felt like all the eyes in the school were always on you and your binder full of doodles. It wasn’t helpful, either, that you had a habit of being a little flustered around the popular crowd; it wasn’t your fault you were shy. It made for many pranks, and no matter what you did, they never lessened off.

You were staying in after school, waiting for the photography club to meet on the school athletic field. They usually started at four thirty, but for some reason, the cheer squad were on the track. Sitting in the bleachers, drawing pad in hand, you worked a little sketch of the people you saw. While you usually drew faces in profile, it was a little harder to the side, and so removed. You tried to get a good sketch of Wendy Harris, but it just wasn’t working for you. After a few tries, you took your eraser to the page.

But that’s when you hear a thwomp! and suddenly the boy who had been accompanying the recruit to the Bumblebees has fallen from the bottom step to the bleachers, and face first to the ground. He’s wearing a black tee, jeans, and army boots, and with a face full of dirt and messed-up hair, you pause, breath held.

You sit there, frozen where you’ve sat upon the bleachers, watching as the cheerleaders laugh at him, calling him names. It’s then when something in your chest tightens, and your breath comes out slowly, lips ajar. Oh no, you think, he’s cute.

Later, when the cheer team have cleared the area, and the photography club gather around with their gear that you catch up with a fellow stranger to the common ground of friends and the game of popularity. Marvin White. But when you mention the guy to him, he shrugs, pulling the strap of his camera around his neck.

“Uh, I don’t know, ________,” he says, taking the lens cap off, “He and his friend Megan started today. They’re in our year.”

From your backpack, you took out your little flip phone, and opened the camera function. “Cool, White. Does he have a name, or just Megan…?” you ask.

He shrugs. “I don’t know, Cameron? Conner? Why do you care, ________?”

“I don’t know, Marvin.” you shake your head, and before you go off to meet with the club leader, you turn to him, and whisper, “Just don’t tell anyone, okay? Or I’ll do something drastic.”

“Who knew freak wallflowers could be so scary?” Marvin grins, going to ruffle your hair. At the last minute, you shift away, and instead, he laces an arm around your shoulder as if you’re old friends. “Okay, ________,” he promises, “your secret’s safe with me.”

---

While you don’t mind history class, Mr. Carr doesn’t like it when people draw in the margins of his pop quiz papers. Which makes it your least-liked class of all. Too many times have you argued with him about it, too many times have you gotten detention for it, and too many times have your fellow classmates snickered behind your back about it. So today, instead of doodling to your imagination’s content upon the page, you take a biro to your skin.

“Ahem, ________,” Mr. Carr intones, narrowing his eyes at you. “If you were paying attention, you’d know that you’re paired with Mr. Kent for the group assignment.” He looks between you, and Conner, who sits three rows behind you, and groans. “Now, as everyone else had done, Miss ________, move beside your partner.”

There are giggles from classmates, and quietly with a roaring heat across your face and neck, you pack up your things into your arms and lug in three rows behind to Conner. He gives you a small nod, and wordlessly, passes a sheet of paper with the word assignment brief written in a computerised font.

“I’m ________,” you tell him quietly.

The whispers increase, as does the shade of embarrassment upon your face. In daydreams, you had thought of any other scenario than this to introducing yourself. Where you’d appear to be a cool kid. Maybe slightly popular. Edgy? No, that wasn’t you. You were just…you. ________ ________, the kid whose parents on welfare couldn’t afford to buy you shoes in fourth grade, ________, who had outdated textbooks and reused everything.

He gives you a small smile. “I’m Conner.” He says, and looking past you, glares at a bully, “Are they bothering you?”

You shake your head, not wanting to cause a scene. “Please, let’s just – uh, focus on the assignment.” You read over the typeface, and say, “It says it’s for out of classroom time. Maybe we could meet at your place –,”

Conner shakes his head. “Can’t. My – uh, family don’t like friends over.”

You nod understandingly. “Yeah, same. Maybe we could meet at the library?” you suggest, and add quickly, “Are you free Saturday, after the football game?”

“Sure,” He says, making a note of it, just as the bell rings. “See you Saturday, ________.”

But, you did not see him Saturday. The other days of the week dragged on and on, your classes a hellish nightmare to get through, and yet, when Saturday arrived, and you waited for two hours after the football game out the front of the public library until the librarians came out and told you it was time to leave, you couldn’t help yourself. Deflated, in both expectation and pride, you made the walk home from the library to the caravan park, knowing what rumours would be made by Monday.

You kicked a rock as you walked, hands in your pockets, head low. You’d thought Conner Kent was different than the other kids. That he was an outcast, like you.

You were wrong.

---

Come Monday, you barely find the energy to pull yourself out of bed, but you do. It might be halfway through the first term, sure, but if there was one thing about you, it was that you weren’t a quitter. And so, you hitched a ride into town with your neighbour, Bob, and strode into the gates of the school like you had nothing to lose. You walked into homeroom, and then into first period history, and kept your eyes ahead when he entered the room.

“________,” he says, walking by your desk. Your eyes are to your page, where your pen, instead of drawing the doodle of the day, is taking notes from your textbook. “Hey, ________, I’m sorry about what happened. I had a family thing come up.”

“A family thing?” you glance to Conner, unsure. “So, you weren’t doing it to make fun of me?” you ask, having to get it out in the air.

He shakes his head. “We had a…reunion. In Metropolis. They’re big into last minute stuff, and I didn’t have your phone number to text –,”

You nod. “I get it.”

Conner frowns. “You’re not mad, are you? I get it, if you are.”

You hesitate, taking a breath, and then, instead of using the words you had intended with that breath, you breathe out. “I –,”

“Mr. Kent, Miss ________,” Mr. Carr enunciates your names as if you’re in trouble. You can just hear him tearing off a detention slip already, and you sit further in your chair. But instead, he says, “…talking about the group assignment?”

Conner nods, arms crossed. “Yes sir,” he declares.

Mr. Carr smiles, turning to the blackboard with a thin stick of chalk. “Don’t chat too long, class is about to start.” He glances over his shoulder to you, and adds, “It’s good to see you’re participating, ________,” he says, kindly. “If you keep this up, you’re on track for a B!”

Before he leaves to his desk, Conner passes you a folded note.

In block letters, you read, LET ME MAKE IT UP TO YOU. CAFETERIA, LUNCH. MY TABLE.

When lunch rolls around, you’re hesitant; last time there was an invitation to sit with people, it ended with your food through your hair, your sketchbook stolen, and humiliation. But tray in hand, you see Conner at the back of the room, sitting with a girl with red hair. She looks a bit like the reruns of your Mom’s favourite show, Hello, Megan! – in fact, come to think of it, she’s the new cheerleader. Before you can turn away and walk to your usual lunchtime haunt, they see you, and wave.

“Hey, ________,” Conner calls out.

Megan waves. “Oh, you’re ________? Conner’s told me so much about you!” She grins, waving you over to sit opposite her. “I’m Megan Morse.” She introduces. You frown, thinking back to when Marvin said they were friends. She’s literally the American dream girl, and here you are, wearing dorky second-hand clothes. “I better catch up with Wendy, we’ve got cheer practice this afternoon.” She gives you both a wide smile, and ruffles Conner’s hair. “Don’t wait up, I’ll get Uncle John to get me.”

Once Megan’s gone to the cheerleader’s table, you take the assignment brief from your bag. “I was thinking of splitting the work sort of fifty-fifty…” you begin, pointing out your notes. “…that way we get more covered. Is that okay?”

He nods. “Sure.”

---

Five years pass like agony. But the real pain is that in your entire body – you can’t quite remember what made you come back to your hometown but laying in the rubble of what used to be the third floor of the old steel factory, you’re trying not to cry. Your leg trapped, fire breaking out somewhere nearby you know this is the end. You came from a home of nothing, and just like any other background character, would always go back to nothing. In the morning, the papers would report you along with the others who had been in the building’s hourly tour as numbers dead, and not names.

“There’s still more people in there!”

Your breathing quickens, blinking. There’s people looking for survivors? Of course, there are. You live in a world with Batman, and Green Arrow, and the rest of the Justice League. You go to shout, to alert the person looking for you to your location, but your throat is dry, and all that comes out is a squawk. You almost expect it to be someone from the fire department, but, when you feel a pressure releasing from your leg, it’s not a firefighter.

“Conner?” you say, bleary.

You get a look at the person scooping you into his arms; he has the same dark hair, the same face. Except, you notice, before your eyes grow heavy, he’s wearing an S on his chest like the Blue Boy-Scout of Metropolis.

“Hold on, ________,” your hero says, moving to escape the crumbling building.

“Superboy,” you whisper, trying to stay awake. “Thank y-you.” But it’s no use, and, it’s all dark.

When you come to, you’re not in your dingy hotel room, or in afterlife. It looks like a government facility, or something underground hollowed out to be a place habitable by humans. It’s a bedroom, you come to realise; you’re on a bed, wearing a black t-shirt that isn’t yours.

You blink.

“Hello…?” you call out.

It’s then you remember the accident. You’ve been spending your days interning for the Daily Planet newspaper, trying to chase stories to keep the rent paid and your electricity on. It’s not easy living on it, but when you pieced together a mystery that lead back home to Happy Harbour’s own old steel works factory, you thought you had the gold. Not a death wish. There had been a flash of light, and a laugh, and diving out of the way, you had narrowly escaped a bomb – just not the rubble.

“Hello?” you call out again. You go to move off the bed, but it’s then you realise your leg that had been trapped is discoloured with an array of bruises. “Ah,” you groan.

The door opens.

You thought it had been a dream, but no, it’s real – it’s Conner Kent, the boy you had a crush on in junior year of high school, and senior year too. He’s wearing the same shirt he wore when you saw him in the steel works building, and a soft frown.

“What are you doing up? You need rest.” He says.

You harrumph. “Still blunt as always, Conner.” You note, obeying his instruction. Not that you could do anything else. “So…have you always been a superhero?” you ask.

“Yes,” He nods sharply, and, taking a seat beside the bed, adds, “Can I get you anything?”

“Answers? Glass of water?” You shrug. “You were the only friend I really had, you know. They called me a freak.”

“They called me a freak too,” Conner ruminates, and gesturing to the side table, you see a mug of water. “But I am, I’m an experiment made from Superman’s DNA.” He gives you a wan smile, and says, “I haven’t seen you since graduation, what are you up to?”

“Not superhero stuff,” you reply.

He raises a brow.

“I’m a junior reporter for the Daily Planet,” you explain. “…but mostly a gopher. I thought if I chased the story, I’d get the attention I deserved in my workplace.”

Conner frowns, “It’s never that easy.” He blinks, “what about your art? You used to have a doodle pad, didn’t you?”

“No, I don’t really draw much these days. I’m a people-watcher.” You say, sipping your water. Your eyes widen, realising your notebook is nowhere to be seen. You run a hand into your hairline, defeated. “Oh no, my notebook!”

He shifts where he sits, pulling out a familiar faux leather-bound A5 notebook. “I checked out your notes, ________.” He turns the pages and shows you what he’s been looking at. You feel a blush take over your face – it’s a sketch of Superboy, from the first time you saw him on the TV nightly news. Conner flips more pages, more pictures of himself. “You’re really good, ________,” he says, voice small.

“Thank you, Conner,” you whisper.

A beat passes between the two of you, and he asks, “uh, could I take you out for lunch sometime? To make up for you being hurt.”

You giggle at the absurdity, “But – but you saved me!” you protest. “You don’t have to make up anything to me!”

He shrugs, “How about for lost time?” He says, getting out of his seat, to sit beside you on the bed.

“Sounds great, Superboy.”

[harryandtaraspirateship-blog]

Surrender Chapter 2

“ Cause you look greatest when you feel like a damn queen, We’re all just playing a game in a way, trying to win at life”, I sing loudly, as I tap my hand on the dash along to the beat of the music. Continuing to sing, I look over to my mum whose already looking over to me then on to the road and It felt like I could hear her questioning the type of person she's made in her head, I smile widely in response. “You think we should bring them some pie? After dinner?” My mum asks me. “Hmmm the good ole cliche apple pie? I am 3.14 % okay with that” , as I make the *ba dum tis* noise while doing the drum movements with my hands. Laughter is the only thing consumed in this car in this moment. “Pie, would be great, Mum” I say through my breathes of laughter. The thought of meeting the boy with the brown swirls of moppy hair creates excitement and curiosity through me. “Harry” echoes through my mind, I quickly snap out of my trance and begin to tell my mother the rest of the drive about the application process I was about to start for colleges. We arrive at NorthValley Composite High, it’s only the second week of the first semester, the air still flowing with the smell of trees and warmth is radiating of the summer sun. Before exiting the vehicle, I quickly give my mother a kiss on the cheek and wish her a good day. I hop out of the vehicle and immediately text Sam to meet me by our lockers. Walking towards my lockers, I notice the same regular crowds in their same particular areas of the courtyard, with the second level above the courtyard was reserved for the quote on quote “popular kids”, quite frankly they were made of guys who think they were the shit, majority of this school's population of girls had crushes on these boys, and girls who thought they were the royalty of the school. (Stereotypical girls in teenage movies, made up of girls who easily intimidated by another girls rising popularity or the boys noticing a new girl.) Sam’s and I’s locker were on the third floor which looked over the entire courtyard, which meant when there is a commotion, guess who gets the front seat? Thats right, meeee. “Hey boo" Sam yell’s practically loud enough for the courtyard to hear, with people looking at Sam. I put in my notebooks into my locker and smile at her and say “you know I love it when you express your love for me.” With a sly wink from me, she quickly rolls her eyes and smirks with “ babe, you know it.” We quickly burst into laugher, while finishing putting our stuff into our lockers. Let me give you a description of Sam, she has long beautiful dirty blonde hair and colourful eyes that you can’t even describe, she can make a plastic bag look amazing. She's been my best friend since we were in grade 3 and honestly she knows me better than myself at times. I refer to her as my soulmate everytime, someone ask’s me about her. Today she's wearing her favourite black bomber jacket with her black vans and white ripped jeans, totally a beauty, everyone knows this in school, especially the guys know. But her heart had been taken by Justin, I liked the guy because this one of the first guy’s to actually genuinely care about Sam and didn’t she her as an object. He was one of the core people who were in the popular crowd, because of his father’s wealth and his spot on the varsity football team. Although I mentioned i’d hurt him, if he were to hurt my best friend, only a couple times… Before bells rang, while Sam and I were talking about her sleeping over at my house, I mention my new neighbours. “British accent?!?” She squeals, I am taken back by her tone and say “yeah” while trying to regain my hearing in my right ear. “Oooooo look finally a guy for you!!” I laugh at her delusion, “yup totally this total stranger is the one! Could tell by the way we looked at each other, oh wait he didn’t.” I say with sarcasm. “Besides I don't want to be into another person after Stephen..” I say slowly. (Later in the story I'll tell you) “Tara how many times do I have to tell you that it happened a while ago, and I want to see you happy, could you at least consider trying to be more open with people? You’re one of the most caring people I know, you always put others first and a person willing to see that is the one for you.” She says to me. I sigh and say "fine, fine i’ll try to come out of my shell this year, okay? She smiles and claps at my acceptance. “Your lucky, I love you” I tell her, “oh believe me babe, I know.” She says. She is quickly taken by Justin who walks her to her usual math class and she tells me she’ll see me later.  As I walk towards my English class and look over the rail to look down at the courtyard and see a group of girls swooning and giggling at something or someone by the main doors, I can’t see who they are staring at but must’ve been one of the core boys on second, I disregard it and continue to walk to class. I make it into my class and sit towards the front then take out my notes from last class and wait for the class to begin, with regular kids pilling in then Madison and Lauren walk in, taking up the seat behind me. They were leaders of the clique of “royalty”, Madison mostly. I stayed focus on planning notes in my planner when I hear Madison say “I hear he’s from the United Kingdom.” I suddenly stop myself to listen, thinking about the mop head boy. “The UK? Woah thats hot” Lauren says. “I know right? I am thinking of welcoming the new boy myself, I seen him on my way to class, he was walking out of the office coming up the stairs. He is totally fine, with his curly hair of his.” she giggles with Lauren. Yup, its mop head boy, couldn’t help myself feel even more curious as to what he looked like. As Mr. Holden stands to start the class, there is a knock at the door and by instinct everyone turns to look and there he is standing beside Principal Donald, I look at his face and boy he is actually really handsome, he is wearing a white tee shirt that slightly expose his tattoos underneath and black jeans with a black string necklace of some sort around his neck. Principal says to Mr. Holden and the rest of class that “this is Harry and he’s our new student”, if someone were kind enough to show him around school that will be great!” Mr. Holden in a cheerful tone tells him, he’ll choose a student to do so afterwards but to take a sit across from me on the other side of the class. “Hope he picks me” I hear Madison say to Lauren. “Good morning class today we will be starting our partner paper for The Great Gatsby, now I hope all of you have read them over the summer because this should be thorough and I want you to understand what Gatsby was experiencing and the dynamics of the themes”, He explains to us. “To live through what that era was like, the theme between social setting and the reality of his dream.”  I slowly look over to Harry and see he is already staring at me and I embarrassingly turn quickly focusing on the teacher, I felt my cheeks get hotter because I felt him to continue to stare at me. “Okay, I'll explain more after I tell you whose partnering with who, James with Sarah, Ruby & Kate, Madison…” he says slow, looking at his sheet. “Please Harry, Please Harry” I hear Madison mumble. “Connor!” He informs her, an angry sigh leaves Madison. He beings to partner the rest of the class till he says “Tara, you’ll be with Harry. Mind showing him around too? Thanks”, he tells me. I gulp and glance over at him and he doesn’t seem to notice me, like I figured. The rest of the class, he tells us more about the partner paper and my mind keeps going back to Harry. The bell rings and everyone scurries out of the class room and I rush to catch Harry in the hall. “Harry!” I say to catch his attention, he turns towards me and in a unenthusiastic tone says “yeah?”, "Um I was supposed to show you around and since we are working on the paper now, he interrupts me and says “Listen, you don't have to, that girl offered when I walked out of class and I said yes, he points behind me and I turn around and see Madison standing there looking like a gawking schoolgirl. I roll my eyes and go “okay, but when do you want to start this paper?” He swiftly moves past me while saying coldly “ I don't know, but I'll see you later.” I turn around and see both of them  walking together and Madison looks behind and gives me a smile that says “HAHAHA BITCH.” I stand there wondering how do all people like them find each other its like they can sense the arrogance in each other, that makes them flock together. “Yay! Can’t wait to see him after supper tonight!!” I say to myself. (NOT) I roll my eyes and walk towards my next class but can’t help smirk at the thought of the expression on his face when he finds out we are neighbours.

[lifeisstrangeshortstuff]

Headcanons: Halloween! <3

TW: Drug and alcohol mentions

Hi guys! It’s time to get spoopy~ I don’t really celebrate Halloween because my family isn’t a very celebrate-y family, so I didn’t write as much as I normally do. Hope you’re all okay with that ^_^ <3 It’s not a reader-insert, but there’s some mentions of activities they’d do with someone else (feel free to insert yourself, an oc or another character there!)

Disclaimer: As always, feel free to discuss it with me if you disagree with my interpretation!

Max Caulfield

Max’s favourite holiday! 

She likes doing the traditional pumpkin face carving, even if it might be a little wonky. She’s really just there to do the activity with friends. If you guys decide to keep going, her pumpkins get increasingly artistic as she tries out different patterns. 

She’d dig out a pirate outfit because she’s a sucker for nostalgia - one almost exactly like the ones she’d wear long ago, with Chloe. She’s into dressing up for these occasions, but you’ll never catch her in a revealing outfit. 

She’s definitely bringing out her polaroid camera - the night and costumes are perfect for odd photos, where it’ll be certain that she’ll capture little monsters out and about or a cat’s glowing eyes.

Would be down for some horror movies like the Blair Witch Project, and can stomach more than what her outward nature would suggest. Coraline is good, too! The unique, auteur style combined with the thrill is something she’d enjoy. 

Chloe Price

This is HELLAween--

She’ll definitely go trick-or-treating! As a rockstar pirate, perhaps- I think she’ll always have a fondness for pirates since she used to dress up as one with Max when she was younger, but she might give it an update due to her later aesthetic. 

She’ll start off by trick-or-treating but eventually wander off, bored but eager to explore. She’d playfully grab you by your hand and pull you away from the festivities to adventure in the dark, telling you ghost stories all the while. 

She’d fucking love playing scary pranks on Halloween, like jumping out behind bushes and freaking out people she knows. Or even trying to spook people she dislikes, by making them think someone’s following them. 

Did somebody say haunted house? Hell yeah! After touring poorly-made haunted houses, she’d definitely sneak into a few of the more expensive/well-made ones. After that adrenaline rush, she’ll insist on going to places that are supposed ghost hotspots.

She wouldn’t pay for it herself, but if a friend (or s/o) paid for an escape room activity, she’d enjoy the hell out of it because it can be thrilling!

Warren Graham

[Insert Ross Geller’s spud-nik joke] 

Generically, he could go as a mad scientist - and it’s not that far of a reach. While generic, Warren strikes me as the kind of guy who’d be excited for Halloween but forget about the costume last minute. Lab coats, rubber gloves, and protective goggles are easy for him to get a hold of, so it would definitely be in the realm of possibility. 

If given time and someone reminds him constantly, I think he’d love to dress up as the Doctor since he seems to be a fan of the Doctor Who series. That, or a Dalek or Cyberman because it is Halloween and you’re supposed to look a bit scary. 

Clumsily done gore makeup, his hands aren’t the steadiest, but the effort is there and it’s kind of endearing. He really wants to do a couple outfit, but he’s a little bit embarrassed and only really hints (not very subtly) about it. 

He tries his best to put on a straight face if he gets jump-scared, and it sort of works - only that you can feel him shake a little bit. He wants to be the pillar of strength, even if it’s not needed, and to be depended on. 

He might suggest going on a horror-movie marathon and put on stuff like Paranormal Activity or Saw, It, and The Shining… not only because he’s a movie buff but because he kinda hopes you will cling onto him. Popcorn all around!

Kate Marsh

Children’s storybook characters, like Alice from Alice in Wonderland and Little Red Riding Hood

She doesn’t really trick-or-treat, but not because she doesn’t want to - she just wants to give the candy out to the kids, because the way their faces light up just melts her heart. 

She’d love to do some pre-Halloween prep by baking her own Halloween treats to give out! Not that she’d make enough for a lot of kids, mind you, but enough to give to some kids whose outfits she loves. Something like cute Halloween-themed cookies shaped like pumpkins or little ghosts. 

She’s not huge into the dress up but may put on a pair of bunny ears or a halo just so she doesn't seem too out of place.

Not much of a horror-movie fanatic, but totally up for movies like the Corpse Bride or Frankenweenie because they’re slightly creepy but still has an adorable charm to it. But since she does enjoy The October Country (a collection of 19 macabre short stories), she might unexpectedly suggest movies The Babadook, especially due to its use of symbolism.

Victoria Chase

Might go to a haunted house or two if a lot of her clique wants to, but god would she dread those escape rooms. The time constraints and potential to get dirty just grosses her out. 

She’d definitely want to dress up in something revealing, and she’d have the money to make it look good, not like some store-bought costume. Due to her closeted weaboo status, she may dress up in a gothic lolita style, but sexier. She’d make sure her friends are also doing so because she doesn’t want to turn up overdressed. 

She loves group couple/group outfits, with her gang or current partner. It’s not a must but she thinks it’s cute, especially if she has a chance to show off a significant other.

As evidenced in the game, would probably throw some sort of party and get Nathan to supply some… other recreational hobbies. She’d definitely get a little tipsy that night~

Would be totally down to trash bad acting or effects in horror movies! 

Nathan Prescott

Halloween can be a little stressful for Nathan because he’s not fond of jump scares or screamers, even if he’s a bit of a hypocrite and thinks it’s funny when he’s in on the joke. 

Do not bring him to a haunted house, that is a terrible, terrible, terrible idea. 

He’s embarrassed to wear a costume in general because he thinks he looks fuckin stupid in one and he hates looking dumb. If he does wear one, it’s after a lot of consultation with Victoria, who he knows, knows what to wear. 

Although, he might secretly dress a little similarly to a character from New Romantics

He’s not much of a trick-or-treater because the idea of showing up to someone’s door and ask for candy embarrasses him (even if a little part of him wants to do it since he never really got to as a kid). He’ll grumpily follow if Victoria’s doing it, but if she doesn’t, no one can convince him to do so. Except for perhaps an s/o. 

He’s a lot more at home at a vortex-thrown Halloween party where he can get high or drunk, since he’d be more relaxed and less jumpy.

Mark Jefferson

He’s already a monster, he doesn’t need a damn costume

Kind of a grouch, Halloween isn’t that interesting for him, wouldn’t really offer candy to kids even though he knows that it would improve his reputation. He’d just make the excuse that he’s a little tired or that nobody sane would like to see him in a costume. He may possibly put out a bowl of candy outside his door just to seem ‘normal’, but he wouldn’t re-stock it or check on it. 

If there’s a party that requires chaperoning, he might do it to keep up appearances or look for his next… ‘subject’.

[johnny-depplyloveyou]

Johnny’s foreword for “In the Name of the Son: The Gerry Conlon Story”

Johnny with Joe Cashman, Terry O'Neill and Gerry Conlon in 1993

Upon Thinking of My Long-Lost Brother, Gerry …

20.8.17

I first met Gerry Conlon, by absolute chance, in the hallway of a talent agency in Los Angeles, somewhere around 1990, I believe. It was a rare occurrence for me to visit the place, which made the moment with Gerry all the more charmed.

I had pressed the button and was en route to my destination floor. Upon arriving, the doors opened. As I exited, I spooked a couple of guys to my left, who looked, as did I, sorely out of place. The guts of this heinous, monolithic terrarium of steel, glass and dubious “art”, sparsely shaming those ghastly “modern” walls, was not a typical setting for folk such as myself, or gents of this breed, who, in my personal and moderately professional estimation, were satisfactorily saturated and teetering along the same invisible ledge, as though they’d been out on the prowl, for an especially impressive stretch. Indeed, they looked just like the depraved, miscreant, unhinged maniacs I always tended to hang out with. One of them possessed the squinty scrutinising eyes of the streets, and was as skinny as a dried lizard. He also seemed to have been divined with a prevailing lack of residents in the tooth department. The questionable few choppers that had not been evicted, were lonely, jagged and rotting. His stringy, straight hair – greasy to his shoulders. This was Joey Cashman. A hilariously clever and quick-witted Irishman, from just outside Dublin. He was the manager of one of my favourite humans of all time, the infamously tattered genius of lyric and song, Shane MacGowan, from the Pogues. Joey was a lovely man, who held strong to those he loved. Devoted and solid. I would later survive many adventures with this man, and to this very day, I have been informed of Joey’s tragic and “sudden” demise, and miraculous resurrection, at least fourteen times. The other fella was from heavier stock. He laid a big, beautiful, slightly crazed Cheshire Cat smile on me, which showed that this man had at least met a dentist once in his life. But it was his eyes that got me. Eyes that simultaneously exuded wisdom and a childlike purity; a desire to live and love. There was no question that these powerful eyes had seen and experienced much. This was Gerry Conlon. He approached me and introduced himself and his mate Joey, with the exuberance of a man who held nothing back. He gave of himself freely. His eyes sparkled like ten thousand stars had just given birth to ten thousand more …

Gerry Conlon had first gotten my attention when he stomped out of the Old Bailey in London in October 1989, fists raised high and declared to the world that he was an innocent man who had spent fifteen years in jail. The authorities had tried to shove him out the back door, in order to avoid the inevitable media frenzy, but he had refused, instead imparting something along the lines of “Fuck you, I’m a free man, youse fuckin brought me in the back door, I’m going out the front!” My curiosity had then been further fired when I’d learnt that he’d witnessed his father, Giuseppe, another innocent man, die in a British prison. And now here he was, Gerry himself, stood right before me, in this, the most incongruous of places possible. Fortunately, to prevent matters from being overtly one-sided, he recognized me from something or other and lunch was duly arranged.

Gerry was altogether an articulate, personable, funny, self-deprecating and fierce humanitarian. He was an absolute gentleman, who possessed all the knowledge of law in the streets of Belfast. Chivalrous, loyal and highly sensitive to any injustice, no matter how large, or minute. If he loved you, you were blessed to be invited into his circle, where there existed no edits with him. Gerry said what he felt and meant what he said. He had no difficulty in getting his point across. Ever. He had grown so used to having his prison clique around him that those of us who spent significant amounts of time with him became a newfangled version of just that. He was a 100% trusted friend and brother, to the very end.

During lunch, he broached the subject of my playing him in the film that was to be produced about his life during his unfathomably unjust arrest and incarceration. More than touched at this profoundly personal invitation from this man, I was already on the deck wiping away tears (as was he), when he gave me the first details of his abduction and torture by the British authorities. During this, our first proper encounter, he spoke more of his experiences in prison. Despite the hardship that had been visited on him, I came away with the impression that here was a character whose passion for life had been in no way diminished. He was starving for it. As much as he could get ahold of.

Later, during the summer of 1991, I found myself fortunate enough to be invited on holiday with Gerry and his family. Despite being more of a grape man, the only flavours I recall from that trip are Black Bush, Jameson’s, Irish Coffee and of course, the Guinness. The Conlons were lovely people, one and all, but I had a special place in my heart for Gerry’s mother, Sarah, and his sister, Ann. These were sweet, strong and kind folk whose lives had been torn asunder and putting them back together wasn’t going to be easy. But, if my experiences with these wonderful people told me anything, it was that their humour remained perfectly intact. In fact, I specifically remember some sloppy conversation with both Gerry and I employing words and sentences that our mouths were shamefully unfit to speak, as our eyes began to see double. At some point Gerry decided that we must go to Dingle to see Fungie, the dolphin. Very important. Gerry had no need to convince me, of course I was going to say yes. Who wouldn’t want to go to a place called Dingle to see a dolphin named Fungie? Gerry proceeded to inform me that his cousin, David, would be coming down that night to Dublin from Belfast, and would drive us to Dingle in the morning. And indeed, as promised, later that evening, David appeared in the door of the bar, screaming, “Gerry, ya fucken cunt!” I turned to see a big, thick and angry-looking brute, with ginger hair and pincers for arms. We were introduced. I shook one of his metallic claws and looked him squarely in the eye. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said. He replied with what may have been an eleven-syllable fuck-off. I still don’t know. The man was utterly pickled. If worry was going to come into the picture it would have done so at exactly that moment. We sat down to have a drink. And drink we did. What seemed like an instant later, it was brought to our attention that we were fast approaching 8.30 a.m. It was time to go. Worry never seemed to enter the picture. We had merely forgotten to sleep. But, whilst not feeling all that bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, we remained determined to make our rendezvous with this mysterious dolphin called Fungie. Fungus. I felt like fungus. Gerry looked like fungus, and David was immune to fungus. Of course, I was chosen to ride in the front seat with David. His co-pilot, as it were. It is potentially the only time I have put a seatbelt on without hesitation. Or actually thought about one for that matter. But David, it turns out, was a fantastic driver. His claws were quite handy for storing pints of Guinness, but it didn’t matter, because his feet were steering. So, as I also clutched two pints of Guinness, similar to Gerry in the back seat, I thought that if we were to die, it would be the most interesting trio of obituaries. Anyways, we soldiered onward towards Dingle, but at some point there came the inevitable need to replenish our glasses. The next road sign informed us that Limerick, also known as Stab City, lay just ahead. We would find a pub, have a bite, and get back on our way with enough Guinness to carry us through to Dingle. Wrong. Our brief pitstop in Limerick proved to be one of the most chaotic nights that I can ever remember, and/or, kind of not remember. Suffice to say, we conquered Stab City. The three of us took over a pub, all in the name of Gerry Conlon. He was a hero to these people and it was a joy to bear witness. Courtesy of his devilish charm, he owned the place. It was a riotous celebration. The following morning, I awoke in an unfamiliar room, in what appeared to be an old hotel. Complete with red-eyes and full-on throbbing gristle somewhere within whatever had been spared of my brain, I somehow managed to contact Gerry in the adjoining room. “Where is the Lord Mayor of Limerick?” I asked, referring to David, who had been bestowed the honor the night previous. “He’s taking a shower” Gerry said, in a pained drawl. Apparently he woke up with some chick. He didn’t know where he was, let alone who she was. Gerry went on to tell me that David had said good morning and asked the girl very simply, “Did we fuck?” “I’m not sure,” came the reply from the sweet lady to the armless thalidomide, whose pincer claws had been hurled across the room. David thought for a moment, before calmly stating, “Well, we had better make sure …”

After picking myself up off the floor, we again made for Dingle, where we finally met Fungie. The three of us were in no state to do anything whatsoever, let alone get in a fucking boat with a bunch of tourists. I can recall us being looked down upon by our fellow shipmates, especially the children, for some reason. I felt dirty. But Gerry was as excited as an eight-year-old, as we clipped through the water watching out for the dolphin to occasionally rear a head and deign us with its glory on this most joyous of grey days that I can ever recall. Gerry always possessed the magical ability to ensure such miracles.

The pain of losing his father never left Gerry. He blamed himself for Giuseppe’s death and nothing I, or anyone else, could say to him would shift that blame. In quieter moments, he would tell me of his pain, of how troubled he was at having confessed to the Guildford pub bombing. In his mind, if he hadn’t confessed, his father might still be alive and the Maguire family, who were also wrongfully convicted of the pub bombings, would never have been sent to prison. He might have been dealt the torturous methods employed by the authorities to haul out the counterfeit admissions, but in his rush to self-condemnation, he set that aside. He could not forgive himself.

Gerry Conlon was a leader who became the central figure in the struggle to have the Birmingham Six released from prison, even addressing a Congressional Committee on the matter. Gerry was also an international human rights activist and he highlighted the harsh treatment meted out to the Australian aborigines and Native Americans. His activism didn’t stop there: he protested capital punishment wherever it reared its ugly head. For prisoners around the world, many of whom had been wrongfully convicted, Gerry Conlon was their only hope.

Yet, by his own admission, this man was a flawed character, as so many of us are. He often told reporters that he took drugs to ward off his demons. In 1998 he took the decision to go clean, but what followed was a six-year struggle, during which he repeatedly goaded himself to commit suicide. But he beat the monster; he got off his knees and he beat the monster.

This book is a tour de force, a warts-and-all depiction of the life of Gerry Conlon from the minute he walked out of the Old Bailey. Knowing him as I did, he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. On every page, the colourful characters that inhabited Gerry’s life reach their hands out to the reader and invite them into a world rich in pathos, humour and irony. This is not a sad story. No, far from it. This is a chronicle of the triumph of the human spirit over extreme adversity. It is a story of hope. It is the story of a man I loved and would have taken a bullet for, as I know he would have done for me and all his loved ones. It was an honor to have known Gerry Conlon and to call him my friend.

Once we’d just left a bookstore in Dublin. Me with a handful of Brendan Behan’s books, and Gerry with a present – a beautifully handworked leather wallet, with one word etched onto it … “Saoirse”, meaning Freedom. It’s in my pocket as I write these words.

Johnny Depp Vancouver August 2017

[rottinginwonderland]

If you are or have been a victim of bullying, republish this poem. If you know someone who is currently being bullied, share this with them. Everyone is here for a reason. Despite what other people say.

TO THIS DAY by Shane Koyczan When I was a kid I used to think that pork chops and karate chops Were the same thing I thought they were both pork chops And because my grandmother thought it was cute And because they were my favourite She let me keep doing it Not really a big deal One day Before I realized fat kids are not designed to climb trees I fell out of a tree And bruised the right side of my body I didn’t want to tell my grandmother about it Because I was afraid I’d get in trouble For playing somewhere that I shouldn’t have been A few days later the gym teacher noticed the bruise And I got sent to the principal’s office From there I was sent to another small room With a really nice lady Who asked me all kinds of questions About my life at home I saw no reason to lie As far as I was concerned Life was pretty good I told her, “Whenever I’m sad My grandmother gives me karate chops” This led to a full scale investigation And I was removed from the house for three days Until they finally decided to ask how I got the bruises News of this silly little story quickly spread through the school And I earned my first nickname Pork Chop To this day I hate pork chops I’m not the only kid Who grew up this way Surrounded by people who used to say That rhyme about sticks and stones As if broken bones Hurt more than the names we got called And we got called them all So we grew up believing no one Would ever fall in love with us That we’d be lonely forever That we’d never meet someone To make us feel like the sun Was something they built for us In their tool shed So broken heart strings bled the blues As we tried to empty ourselves So we would feel nothing Don’t tell me that hurts less than a broken bone That an ingrown life Is something surgeons can cut away That there’s no way for it to metastasize It does She was eight years old Our first day of grade three When she got called ugly We both got moved to the back of the class So we would stop get bombarded by spit balls But the school halls were a battleground Where we found ourselves outnumbered day after wretched day We used to stay inside for recess Because outside was worse Outside we’d have to rehearse running away Or learn to stay still like statues giving no clues that we were there In grade five they taped a sign to her desk That read beware of dog To this day Despite a loving husband She doesn’t think she’s beautiful Because of a birthmark That takes up a little less than half of her face Kids used to say she looks like a wrong answer That someone tried to erase But couldn’t quite get the job done And they’ll never understand That she’s raising two kids Whose definition of beauty Begins with the word mom Because they see her heart Before they see her skin Because she’s only ever always been amazing He Was a broken branch Grafted onto a different family tree Adopted Not because his parents opted for a different destiny He was three when he became a mixed drink Of one part left alone And two parts tragedy Started therapy in 8th grade Had a personality made up of tests and pills Lived like the uphills were mountains And the downhills were cliffs Four fifths suicidal A tidal wave of anti depressants And an adolescence of being called popper One part because of the pills Ninety nine parts because of the cruelty He tried to kill himself in grade ten When a kid who could still go home to mom and dad Had the audacity to tell him “get over it” as if depression Is something that can be remedied By any of the contents found in a first aid kit To this day He is a stick of TNT lit from both ends Could describe to you in detail the way the sky bends In the moments before it’s about to fall And despite an army of friends Who all call him an inspiration He remains a conversation piece between people Who can’t understand Sometimes becoming drug free Has less to do with addiction And more to do with sanity We weren’t the only kids who grew up this way To this day Kids are still being called names The classics were Hey stupid Hey spaz Seems like each school has an arsenal of names Getting updated every year And if a kid breaks in a school And no one around chooses to hear Do they make a sound? Are they just the background noise Of a soundtrack stuck on repeat When people say things like Kids can be cruel? Every school was a big top circus tent And the pecking order went From acrobats to lion tamers From clowns to carnies All of these were miles ahead of who we were We were freaks Lobster claw boys and bearded ladies Oddities Juggling depression and loneliness playing solitaire spin the bottle Trying to kiss the wounded parts of ourselves and heal But at night While the others slept We kept walking the tightrope It was practice And yes Some of us fell But I want to tell them That all of this shit Is just debris Leftover when we finally decide to smash all the things we thought We used to be And if you can’t see anything beautiful about yourself Get a better mirror Look a little closer Stare a little longer Because there’s something inside you That made you keep trying Despite everyone who told you to quit You built a cast around your broken heart And signed it yourself You signed it “They were wrong” Because maybe you didn’t belong to a group or a clique Maybe they decided to pick you last for basketball or everything Maybe you used to bring bruises and broken teeth To show and tell but never told Because how can you hold your ground If everyone around you wants to bury you beneath it You have to believe that they were wrong They have to be wrong Why else would we still be here? We grew up learning to cheer on the underdog Because we see ourselves in them We stem from a root planted in the belief That we are not what we were called We are not abandoned cars stalled out and Sitting empty on a highway And if in some way we are Don’t worry We only got out to walk and get gas We are graduating members from the class of Fuck Off We Made It Not the faded echoes of voices crying out Names will never hurt me Of course They did But our lives will only ever always Continue to be A balancing act That has less to do with pain And more to do with beauty

[gabriellainwonderland-blog]

To This Day by Shane Koyczan

When I was a kid I used to think that pork chops and karate chops were the same thing I thought they were both pork chops and because my grandmother thought it was cute and because they were my favourite she let me keep doing it

not really a big deal

one day before I realized fat kids are not designed to climb trees I fell out of a tree and bruised the right side of my body

I didn’t want to tell my grandmother about it because I was afraid I’d get in trouble for playing somewhere that I shouldn’t have been

a few days later the gym teacher noticed the bruise and I got sent to the principal’s office from there I was sent to another small room with a really nice lady who asked me all kinds of questions about my life at home

I saw no reason to lie as far as I was concerned life was pretty good I told her “whenever I’m sad my grandmother gives me karate chops”

this led to a full scale investigation and I was removed from the house for three days until they finally decided to ask how I got the bruises

news of this silly little story quickly spread through the school and I earned my first nickname:

Pork Chop

to this day I hate pork chops

I’m not the only kid who grew up this way surrounded by people who used to say that rhyme about sticks and stones as if broken bones hurt more than the names we got called and we got called them all so we grew up believing no one would ever fall in love with us that we’d be lonely forever that we’d never meet someone to make us feel like the sun was something they built for us in their tool shed so broken heart strings bled the blues as we tried to empty ourselves so we would feel nothing don’t tell me that hurts less than a broken bone that an ingrown life is something surgeons can cut away that there’s no way for it to metastasize

it does

she was eight years old our first day of grade three when she got called ugly we both got moved to the back of the class so we would stop get bombarded by spit balls but the school halls were a battleground where we found ourselves outnumbered day after wretched day we used to stay inside for recess because outside was worse outside we’d have to rehearse running away or learn to stay still like statues giving no clues that we were there in grade five they taped a sign to her desk that read beware of dog

to this day despite a loving husband she doesn’t think she’s beautiful because of a birthmark that takes up a little less than half of her face kids used to say she looks like a wrong answer that someone tried to erase but couldn’t quite get the job done and they’ll never understand that she’s raising two kids whose definition of beauty begins with the word mom because they see her heart before they see her skin that she’s only ever always been amazing

he was a broken branch grafted onto a different family tree adopted but not because his parents opted for a different destiny he was three when he became a mixed drink of one part left alone and two parts tragedy started therapy in 8th grade had a personality made up of tests and pills lived like the uphills were mountains and the downhills were cliffs four fifths suicidal a tidal wave of anti depressants and an adolescence of being called popper one part because of the pills and ninety nine parts because of the cruelty he tried to kill himself in grade ten when a kid who still had his mom and dad had the audacity to tell him “get over it” as if depression is something that can be remedied by any of the contents found in a first aid kit

to this day he is a stick on TNT lit from both ends could describe to you in detail the way the sky bends in the moments before it’s about to fall and despite an army of friends who all call him an inspiration he remains a conversation piece between people who can’t understand sometimes becoming drug free has less to do with addiction and more to do with sanity

we weren’t the only kids who grew up this way to this day kids are still being called names the classics were hey stupid hey spaz seems like each school has an arsenal of names getting updated every year and if a kid breaks in a school and no one around chooses to hear do they make a sound? are they just the background noise of a soundtrack stuck on repeat when people say things like kids can be cruel? every school was a big top circus tent and the pecking order went from acrobats to lion tamers from clowns to carnies all of these were miles ahead of who we were we were freaks lobster claw boys and bearded ladies oddities juggling depression and loneliness playing solitaire spin the bottle trying to kiss the wounded parts of ourselves and heal but at night while the others slept we kept walking the tightrope it was practice and yeah some of us fell

but I want to tell them that all of this shit is just debris leftover when we finally decide to smash all the things we thought we used to be and if you can’t see anything beautiful about yourself get a better mirror look a little closer stare a little longer because there’s something inside you that made you keep trying despite everyone who told you to quit you built a cast around your broken heart and signed it yourself you signed it “they were wrong” because maybe you didn’t belong to a group or a clique maybe they decided to pick you last for basketball or everything maybe you used to bring bruises and broken teeth to show and tell but never told because how can you hold your ground if everyone around you wants to bury you beneath it you have to believe that they were wrong

they have to be wrong

why else would we still be here? we grew up learning to cheer on the underdog because we see ourselves in them we stem from a root planted in the belief that we are not what we were called we are not abandoned cars stalled out and sitting empty on a highway and if in some way we are don’t worry we only got out to walk and get gas we are graduating members from the class of “Fuck off we made it” not the faded echoes of voices crying out “names will never hurt me”

of course they did

but our lives will only ever always continue to be a balancing act that has less to do with pain

and more to do with beauty.

[beccabrodtman-blog]

RuPaul: What’s your greatest strength – charisma, uniqueness, nerve or talent? -charisma and uniqueness 
Sharon Needles: Do you like scary movies, Sidney? What’s your favourite? -I couldn't say....dawn of the dead perhaps 
Chad Michaels: Is there someone you can impersonate to perfection? -Brittany Murphy 
Untucked: What’s the shadiest thing you’ve ever said? -hmmmm I typically don't 
Available On iTunes!: The first five songs that come into your head. -"If I Only Had A Brain", I Wanna Dance With Somebody", "Panic Switch", "Purse First" and "DreamLover" 
Michelle Visage: Are you a tough critic or a sweet little pussycat? -I am a bit of both, a little unpredictable... 
Bianca Del Rio: Stone, gold, glass… What’s your heart made of? -glass 
Bob The Drag Queen: Tell us a joke, funny girl! -nah I'm good 
Santino Rice: Describe the strangest outfit you’ve ever worn, Amadeus.
- the outfit I wore when I played Mrs.Peterson in Bye Bye Birdie Guest Judges: Name three people, alive or dead, whose opinions really matter to you -My Daddio, My Brothers and My Mother. 
All-Stars: Ever had a brush with fame?
Absolut Vodka: Favourite drink? - Before I got sober Limarita's were my drink of choice. 8% alcohol per volume does the trick. 
Bebe Zahara Benet: Do you represent your hometown or not? - I don't think my hometown would appreciate me representing them but my behavior was that of the typical LongIsland dirtbag. 
Raja: Did you roll with the cool kids at school? Or, if you weren’t a Heather, Heather, what clique did you fit with, Heather? - I was never the cool kid, I was the artsy drama nerd who hung out with the potheads even though I wasn't into the whole drug scene at that point. 
Willam: A choice of questions – either tell us about a time you were thrown out of somewhere, or tell us about the sickest you’ve ever felt… -hmm I've never been thrown out of a place but the sickest I've ever felt was when my Father was sick and dying. 
Jinkx Monsoon: Trouble sleeping? Or trouble staying awake? - I have a problem falling asleep but I also live my life being constantly exhausted. Mimi Imfurst: How far would you go to grab people’s attention?
- I don't really want anyone's attention, it makes me uncomfortable. Drag U: Condragulations! You’ve won a fabulous free makeover! What sickening style icon will it be based on? - I love looking like nobody else...maybe I'd take pieces from Adore Delano, Brittany Murphy, Kylie Jenner(forgive me father) and Alaska Thunderfuck. 
Max: What colour is your hair today, and what’s your favourite colour it’s ever been? - I really like the way my hair is now,my brown roots that fade to blondish pink at the ends...this was the result of my bright purple hair I dyed back in September. So no I was not jumping on the bandwagon, I've been doing this for over 15 years cause I'm old haha 
Alyssa + Coco: Can you hold a grudge? (Extra points if you tell us all about it) -I don't hold grudges, I don't need the hate. 
Tyra Sanchez: Give us an unpopular opinion.
- I would have voted for trump over that soulless woman...but to be honest they both suck. Katya: If you could live in any country in all the world, where would you go? -Tokyo or Ireland. 
Ongina: Would you ever shave your head? (If you already have, we want pics!) - You couldn't pay me enough to shave my head. 
PhiPhi O’Hara: Is it better to be loved or feared? - I guess it's better to be loved but it feels pretty powerful to be feared or intimidating. 
Latrice Royale: Tell us about a time you picked yourself up after a fall (and know that we’re so proud of you, hon!) -After 10 years of shooting up Heroin, drinking Alcohol and smoking Pot, I couldn't keep living life that way so I put myself in rehab and I couldn't be happier. Tomorrow is my 2 Month Ani. 
Shangela: If at first you don’t succeed… Is there something in life where you keep on try-trying-again?
- I tried getting sober back in May, Mothers Day was my original sober date but I was kicked out of my Outpatient because I had Pot in my system. I had stayed clean off of Heroin till September when I had run out of my suboxone. Drugs suck the life out of you, I hate how people on here glorify drugs that kill people on a daily basis. Heroin is not chic. Don't do it. Nina Flowers: Does your look match your personality? - I'd say so. 
Violet Chachki: What’s your favourite physical feature?
- My eyes or my hair, there's not much about me that I like. Self loathing is kinda my thing I guess. Naomi Smalls: Take the first name of one of your personal idols, and the last name from another. This makes the name of your brand new persona – now tell us all about your gorgeous self! -RuLennon 
Jiggly Caliente: May I call you Jiggly? -If you're trying to offend me then you've succeeded.

[geraldine-taylor]

The Ever-Changing Dream (Excerpt)

Debut - December 2017 https://m.soundcloud.com/user-921599710/the-ever-changing-dream-intro-new (Excerpt from The Ever-Changing Dream) Foreword Stand and behold things are not as they seem As you enter the world of the ever-changing dream Tales ever captured, summoned to be told Lessons to be learned, mysteries unfold A meeting of the mind, sail upon the shore A journey to be ventured, ever filled with awe Puzzles of amazement, one shall so discern Rise above the fear and so you may return Chapter One Jesse Jobson peered out his bedroom window, gazing into the distance, yet entranced in a field of dreams. The night had worn on, but the still of the night had not kept him from seeking, nor staring, nor searching…….for that solution. ‘Tap, tap, tap’, there were three familiar knocks at his door. “Jesse, I trust that one is sleeping, for there is school in the morning.” A gentle reminder of the day ahead from his endearing and ever-enthusiastic mother Suzie. On the contrary, his father Jimmy was of the more laidback kind, yet stern with respect to his dealings of daily life. Somewhat timid in nature, Jesse’s days in the midst of parental guidance, were often spent either trying to please or trying to prove accomplishment. Yet in the face of daily trials and personal challenges, his journey was soon to be accompanied with valued assistance by an unfamiliar fellow. With a new day begun, came the rising of the sun, yet Jesse lay heavy asleep. ‘Tap, tap, tap’, there were the knocks at the door. “Jesse, I trust that you’ve showered and brushed your teeth, your breakfast awaits you at the table.” “Hmmm, hmmm,” mumbled Jesse, still half in a daze. “I’ll be down in a minute.” The clock hand had turned another quarter, but there was still no sign of Jesse. He had continued to lie under his duvet, in waiting for but a dreaded time. For Jesse the school day ahead meant on-going trials with unfamiliar rivals, who sought to spoil the experiences of anyone they regarded as inferior. The majority of his classmates were of the friendly kind, yet there were also the few whose aim it was to disturb the peace of the day. Jesse was therefore in no hurry to vacate his haven and begin his journey to the school gates on time. On this occasion there was to be no more friendly taps at the door, only amplified rage in order to hurry Jesse along. “Jesse Jobson, for the last time, GET A MOVE ON OR YOU’RE GOING TO BE LATE!!!” Jesse jumped to attention at once, making a desperate dash to the bathroom to carry out a very rushed routine. The moments that followed saw Jesse scurrying down the stairway like a one-armed bandit, with one sleeve hanging loose, toast at the teeth and his tie stuffed into his trouser pocket. In all manner of disarray he followed his mother to the car, who was anxious to get going, as tardiness was not her forte. Suzie’s royal red car was in need of repair, although several scratches later, she still deemed it to be ready and reliant. She was always fond of her ready Rebecca, but to Jesse he felt continued bouts of shame whenever he was seen by his peers in his mother’s beloved rusty car. ‘Cluck, cluck, cluck’ came the sound of the exhaust as they pulled up outside the pearly purple gates of Rodrum Academy. Jesse quickly ducked his head as he caught sight of Toby who was the ringleader of the Uptown Boys. Luckily for Jesse, he sat unnoticed by his dreaded rival. “Okay Jesse, quick kiss on the cheek now, time for school. Aah, don’t forget later, you’re walking back home, part of your exercise routine okay.” With Jesse now in the building and his classmates in full glare, it was now time for him to face the music. Fortunately, it was Tuesday and his first lesson of the day was music, with his favourite teacher Mr Dunsall. “Come on in everyone, take your seats, we’ll be starting s-h-o-r-t-l-y.” Mr Dunsall who was always besotted with singing and with any musical concepts, always spoke in an illustrative manner. He would often emphasize the end of his sentences with a high pitch or burst out in song, to the delight of many of his students. “Today, we are going to be watching a video on composition and taking notes thereafter, so I’ll need two helpers to assist with the setting up of equipment.” The first few minutes comprised a state of calm, with attentive students tuned in to the screening. The initial calm was however to be short-lived and then came the erupting storm. Chuckles of laughter seemingly came from the left area, but then appeared to be coming from the other side. ‘Drip, drip, drip’. Drops of an unknown liquid could be seen funnelling across the floor beneath one of the chairs. Mr Dunsall peered closer to the sight. “What is the meaning of THIS!” Exclaimed Mr Dunsall with a notable high pitch at the end. He had come to realise that one of the students had secretly brought in a drink to the lesson, secretly sipping but unable to contain their laughter. Although usually a pleasant teacher, Mr Dunsall had a specific way of imposing detentions on students whose behaviour was out of line. Like a regimental army officer, he shouted “ATTENTION”. At this point that specific word meant all pupils had to abruptly stand to their feet. It was now Mr Dunsall’s turn to proceed to point exactly to the pupil who would be designated the detention. He then pointed to Maggie, who had brought the drink to the lesson, exclaiming “DETENTION”, whilst wiggling his second finger in her direction at the same time. She knew she was his unwholesome candidate this time for a thirty minute detention of writing repeated lines. ‘I will conduct myself in an orderly manner, I will conduct myself in an orderly manner…….’ To top it off, whilst the pupils were all standing, another pupil then began to display a brief dance on periodic occasions. At one moment swaying to the side, standing still, then clicking his fingers and following on with the moonwalk. “What is the meaning of THIS!” Beckoned Mr Dunsall. “Er sir, I forgot to give you my note from my parents.” Insisted Royson, the dancing student. He then presented a bewildered looking Mr Dunsall with a shiny note, glaring at every crease, yet crumpled with every crunch. “Er sir, it tells you, I’ve recently been told by my doctor that I suffer with ‘danceritus’.” Mr Dunsall appeared now to have become enflamed with fury. “Are you being real with me? Are you having a laugh?” “Er no sir, I’m having a dance!” “Well you won’t mind if I take this note and run it by the headmaster later now, will you?” After such a disturbance, it then took another several minutes before any calm could be restored and the lesson plan back on track. “I must say students, it is such a SHAME,” said Mr Dunsall shaking his hands in the air with all emphasis. “It is such a SHAME to have instances where just a few spoil the experience for the rest.” Jesse’s muddled morning consisted of music, followed by English Literature, break and then PE. At least now he could look forward to his lunch hour and replenish his restless mind. Aligned in the dinner queue, he now waited to be served after rustling through several trays before he could find a squeakily clean one. “Well what can I get you?” said Mrs Sunders ready to serve the eager pupils. “Triple chips, thanks!” “Triple chips,” exclaimed Mrs Sunders. “No not today, we’ve started a new healthy eating scheme. I can give you triple carrots if you like.” Jesse shuddered his shoulders in response and then proceeded on to his next available choices. The second half of the lunch hour, usually saw the majority of pupils scurry off into their peer groups or well known cliques. Jesse would keep the company of his best friend and loyal pal Daz. For Daz however, a great deal of his school experience included being mocked for not wearing shirts that were immaculately laundered white. They had become befriended soul mates, solely because they were both regarded as being different and somewhat inferior by other less challenged pupils. They had both seen each other through tough times and had rarely parted company throughout their school years. Both Jesse and Daz had come from modest backgrounds and on many occasions had to ‘make-do’ with what their respectable families could provide. In retrospect although they had been the butt of other pupil’s jokes, they continued to support each other morally and emotionally. At the other end of the school fields, amongst the crowds was Elizabeth, who stood talking among friends. She both dazzled and caught the eye of Jesse on a number of fond occasions, though not to her knowledge. She exuded a flamboyant combination of both flair and confidence, which rather appealed to the dozens. Elizabeth was in the league of the more popular pupils since her school life began. Her prestigious father, a highly driven entrepreneur, would always be seen on his arrival to collect Elizabeth in the latest sports car. With such a life of little need, or want, their existing states seemed worlds apart. As the lunch hour drew to a close, other pupils proceeded towards their respective classes, although not always in an orderly fashion. Jesse and Daz soon found themselves both sandwiched and squeezed between the mass of Uptown Boys. “Oi you, can you get out of my way?” Barked Toby, in an effort to intimidate Jesse. “I, I, can’t, I’m stuck.” Insisted Jesse. “Well if you were any shorter, I bet I could squish you like a toad.” Implied Toby. “Leave him alone Toby, haven’t you bothered him enough this week,” said Sid of the Uptown Boys in an effort to defend Jesse. “Give him a break.” “Give him a break, next thing you know you’ll be asking me to give him a ‘wafered’ chocolate bar,” said Toby. As the mass of pupils still remained muddled, it then took a further gruelling two minutes before an approaching teacher came to separate the crowd. “Oi Jesse……….until the next time!” Said Toby After being rendered in a somewhat fearful state, Jesse did his best to keep his head down and ‘lay-low’. To continue his aim of avoidance at least meant that he would be out of sight from the Uptown Boys – most of the time. At this stage of his educational as well as personal journey Jesse existed, but was not yet truly living. The majority of days were spent wishing it away, yet the majority of nights were spent wishing nightmares away. Either way he hadn’t yet found the practical solutions to the challenges he faced or how to overcome the obstacles thrown in his direction. The journey home was fast approaching in which Jesse’s shallow breaths were accompanied with a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was now faced with indecision as to which way he should walk home, as well as which roads to steer clear of. If the Uptown Boys were heading down the high road, he would surely then take the low road. By twenty past three the sky was clear with radiant peace, yet no inner peace resided within Jesse. In the corner of his eye he noticed the Uptown Boys heading up Turnwell Lane. After a cheerful goodbye from his best friend Daz, he stood still for a further few minutes and then proceeded down Fearson Road. As Jesse arrived at the flowery front door he breathed a sigh of relief, to have reached the residence of territorial safety. Along with a warm greeting his mother had already laid out healthy snacks at the ready, including sliced fruit and oatmeal bites. “How was your day honey?” Said Suzie, with a hearty hot drink held steadily in one hand. “Honey”, answered Jesse in an unremarkable tone. “Well okay, how was your day sugar?” Said Suzie! “A load of salt, I guess!” Jesse declared. “Oh poor lad, still not getting on with your teachers?” “Yeah, I guess not.” The current response from Jesse as to the status quo was actually far from the truth. In actual fact he had got on splendidly with his teachers at school, however fitting in with a number of his peers was the issue at heart. A good while later he scaled the stairway to his haven within the haven, to his bedroom of personal rest from the outer world. He informed his mother that he would now be spending time on his homework as well as a promise of valuable reading time. In all fairness he did dedicate a good portion of the late afternoon to his homework assignments. As for the remainder of that time, he spent that rallying back and forth in his mind as to the ways he could overcome the indifferences he had at school. There were on-going contemplations as to how he would get through the rest of the week with having to breath the same air as the Uptown Boys, let alone the rest of his academic schooling. The contemplation count could now be counted to two hours to be precise. After strolling down the stairs to the dinner table, he proceeded to sit down amongst his parents. “Lamb chops or stew, take your pick my son,” said Suzie in a pleasant manner. “Er, whichever I don’t mind.” “Oh dear, are you still a ‘tad’ bit down in the dumps?” “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll be fine, erm, I guess I’ll have some of those tasty lamb chops with my tea,” insisted Jesse. His strong silent father did actually contribute a sentence or two throughout the meal, yet even he was too busy contemplating the business day ahead. Although communication and father-son bonding was not yet at its highest level, they deep down have a fair bit in common. In spite of this Jesse always did his level best to get on his father’s good side. It had been nearly three years since they last went on a fishing trip together, or any trip for that matter. He longed for the substance of quality time with his father of whom he looked up to in many ways. The family filled their evening with mugs of cocoa and quiet conversation over the latest soap dramas. “Last one upstairs is a smelly fish!” Insisted Suzie with her dry yet quirky sense of humour! She had been using that line in order to persuade Jesse to retire for bed for several years, without any intention of changing it. In many ways she still regarded Jesse as her beloved baby, of which her fondness continued to blossom as he headed further towards maturity. Even at this stage in his life she still peered round the door of the bathroom so as to check that Jesse was brushing his teeth correctly. The brightly coloured ducks by the bath was her idea and in her mind she still retained the notion that Jesse still desired ducks.......... We look forward to The Ever-Changing Dream in bookstore worldwide. Debuting December 2017 This year will be the epic ebut of the fantasy fiction novel entitled ‘The Ever Changing Dream’ which is being published by a mainstream publisher. This intriguing read explores the journey of a young boy accompanied by a mysterious fellow, namely Glad, who allows him to explore the fascinating journey of a young school aged boy, namely Jesse. This particular title falls into the children’s literature category yet could be deemed as both accessible and appealing to adults. The main character, who attends a state academy, hails from a humble, working-class background, in which he is all too aware of apparent socio-economic divides. On a number of occasions he has experienced financial limitations. As further chapters unfold a range of modern day realities are highlighted: Bullying; Healthy eating; Family dynamics; Work/life balance; Assertiveness; Working in education; Heroism; Popularity; Role models; Self-confidence; Competitiveness; Accountability; Academic achievement; Employment options; Cliques/peer groups; Morality The aforementioned aspects are duly relatable, insofar that they are each identifiable with a range of audiences. There are notable aspects pertaining to the noteworthy characters, including Jesse’s vulnerability, Elizabeth’s popularity, Toby’s dominance, Suzie’s light-heartedness, as well as Jimmy’s aloofness. Furthermore the novel illustrates the family dynamics within the Jobson household, that were to evolve over time. Within the earlier chapters Jesse feels barely able to relate to his ‘workaholic’ father who was both busy and distant. At this time his mother’s nurturing character afforded him some degree of stability. Whilst seeking to resolve such aspects within the land of dreams, Jesse soon found his father demonstrating a higher degree of openness and warmth. His father, Jimmy had come to the acute realisation that he had his existing priorities misplaced and sought to address the issue. A more balanced home life began to positively impact his school experience, although he still had further issues to contend with amongst his rivals and contemporaries. Within the later chapters, memorable events unfold including sports day, a school trip to the nature reserve, as well as family trips. Such experiences presented Jesse with some degree of challenge, whereby he was able to overcome with triumph. By the time his family had resumed their family trips of days gone by; they were able to reconnect, with re-established rapport. Throughout the plot Jesse is accompanied by a mythological character, namely Glad, who allows him to explore further possibilities beyond the proximity of his comfort zone. The plot within the land of dreams includes inanimate objects, assuming human characteristics, including sliding bananas, self-writing maker pens and a dancing tree. Such creative scenes nurture creativity and capture the essence of literary liberation. Aspects of the current school system are featured in parts of the book, including the roles, responsibilities and demands of individual teachers, the resourcefulness of teaching assistants, as well as the reality of school inspections. Furthermore the consideration of family structures in relation to social norms is implied within the plot, for example when a particular pupil’s questions Miss Tiny’s unmarried status, whilst simultaneously crossing personal boundaries. The Ever-Changing Dream in essence is inspiring, particularly for young impressionable minds, whereby humour, irony, pun and rhyme are creatively included to harness imagination. The book has a wide range if vocabulary weaved into the plot, encouraging readers to flourish intellectually. Such a title aims to encourage general readership, reading for pleasure as well as enhancing the peer perspectives of the reader. This awe-inspiring read has an air of appeal in which the main character Jesse, who was underestimated and considered a work in progress, overcame his challenges. His former experience had once revolved around a mental preoccupation with daily conflicts and trials. Over time he was able to shift his perspective, as he circumnavigated the land of dreams. He triumphed over his rivals, including the main ringleader Toby, who although presented a tough exterior, actually concealed his vulnerability. ©

[nightmarishaesthetic]

When I was a kid I used to think that pork chops and karate chops Were the same thing I thought they were both pork chops And because my grandmother thought it was cute And because they were my favourite She let me keep doing it Not really a big deal One day Before I realized fat kids are not designed to climb trees I fell out of a tree And bruised the right side of my body I didn’t want to tell my grandmother about it Because I was afraid I’d get in trouble For playing somewhere that I shouldn’t have been A few days later the gym teacher noticed the bruise And I got sent to the principal’s office From there I was sent to another small room With a really nice lady Who asked me all kinds of questions About my life at home I saw no reason to lie As far as I was concerned Life was pretty good I told her, “Whenever I’m sad My grandmother gives me karate chops” This led to a full scale investigation And I was removed from the house for three days Until they finally decided to ask how I got the bruises News of this silly little story quickly spread through the school And I earned my first nickname Pork Chop To this day I hate pork chops I’m not the only kid Who grew up this way Surrounded by people who used to say That rhyme about sticks and stones As if broken bones Hurt more than the names we got called And we got called them all So we grew up believing no one Would ever fall in love with us That we’d be lonely forever That we’d never meet someone To make us feel like the sun Was something they built for us In their tool shed So broken heart strings bled the blues As we tried to empty ourselves So we would feel nothing Don’t tell me that hurts less than a broken bone That an ingrown life Is something surgeons can cut away That there’s no way for it to metastasize It does She was eight years old Our first day of grade three When she got called ugly We both got moved to the back of the class So we would stop get bombarded by spit balls But the school halls were a battleground Where we found ourselves outnumbered day after wretched day We used to stay inside for recess Because outside was worse Outside we’d have to rehearse running away Or learn to stay still like statues giving no clues that we were there In grade five they taped a sign to her desk That read beware of dog To this day Despite a loving husband She doesn’t think she’s beautiful Because of a birthmark That takes up a little less than half of her face Kids used to say she looks like a wrong answer That someone tried to erase But couldn’t quite get the job done And they’ll never understand That she’s raising two kids Whose definition of beauty Begins with the word mom Because they see her heart Before they see her skin Because she’s only ever always been amazing He Was a broken branch Grafted onto a different family tree Adopted Not because his parents opted for a different destiny He was three when he became a mixed drink Of one part left alone And two parts tragedy Started therapy in 8th grade Had a personality made up of tests and pills Lived like the uphills were mountains And the downhills were cliffs Four fifths suicidal A tidal wave of anti depressants And an adolescence of being called popper One part because of the pills Ninety nine parts because of the cruelty He tried to kill himself in grade ten When a kid who could still go home to mom and dad Had the audacity to tell him “get over it” as if depression Is something that can be remedied By any of the contents found in a first aid kit To this day He is a stick of TNT lit from both ends Could describe to you in detail the way the sky bends In the moments before it’s about to fall And despite an army of friends Who all call him an inspiration He remains a conversation piece between people Who can’t understand Sometimes becoming drug free Has less to do with addiction And more to do with sanity We weren’t the only kids who grew up this way To this day Kids are still being called names The classics were Hey stupid Hey spaz Seems like each school has an arsenal of names Getting updated every year And if a kid breaks in a school And no one around chooses to hear Do they make a sound? Are they just the background noise Of a soundtrack stuck on repeat When people say things like Kids can be cruel? Every school was a big top circus tent And the pecking order went From acrobats to lion tamers From clowns to carnies All of these were miles ahead of who we were We were freaks Lobster claw boys and bearded ladies Oddities Juggling depression and loneliness playing solitaire spin the bottle Trying to kiss the wounded parts of ourselves and heal But at night While the others slept We kept walking the tightrope It was practice And yes Some of us fell But I want to tell them That all of this shit Is just debris Leftover when we finally decide to smash all the things we thought We used to be And if you can’t see anything beautiful about yourself Get a better mirror Look a little closer Stare a little longer Because there’s something inside you That made you keep trying Despite everyone who told you to quit You built a cast around your broken heart And signed it yourself You signed it “They were wrong” Because maybe you didn’t belong to a group or a clique Maybe they decided to pick you last for basketball or everything Maybe you used to bring bruises and broken teeth To show and tell but never told Because how can you hold your ground If everyone around you wants to bury you beneath it You have to believe that they were wrong They have to be wrong Why else would we still be here? We grew up learning to cheer on the underdog Because we see ourselves in them We stem from a root planted in the belief That we are not what we were called We are not abandoned cars stalled out and Sitting empty on a highway And if in some way we are Don’t worry We only got out to walk and get gas We are graduating members from the class of Fuck Off We Made It Not the faded echoes of voices crying out Names will never hurt me Of course They did But our lives will only ever always Continue to be A balancing act That has less to do with pain And more to do with beauty

“To This Day” // Shane Koyczan 

[shewayoutsteph-blog]

When I was a kid I used to think that pork chops and karate chops Were the same thing I thought they were both pork chops And because my grandmother thought it was cute And because they were my favourite She let me keep doing it Not really a big deal One day Before I realized fat kids are not designed to climb trees I fell out of a tree And bruised the right side of my body I didn’t want to tell my grandmother about it Because I was afraid I’d get in trouble For playing somewhere that I shouldn’t have been A few days later the gym teacher noticed the bruise And I got sent to the principal’s office From there I was sent to another small room With a really nice lady Who asked me all kinds of questions About my life at home I saw no reason to lie As far as I was concerned Life was pretty good I told her, “Whenever I’m sad My grandmother gives me karate chops” This led to a full scale investigation And I was removed from the house for three days Until they finally decided to ask how I got the bruises News of this silly little story quickly spread through the school And I earned my first nickname Pork Chop To this day I hate pork chops I’m not the only kid Who grew up this way Surrounded by people who used to say That rhyme about sticks and stones As if broken bones Hurt more than the names we got called And we got called them all So we grew up believing no one Would ever fall in love with us That we’d be lonely forever That we’d never meet someone To make us feel like the sun Was something they built for us In their tool shed So broken heart strings bled the blues As we tried to empty ourselves So we would feel nothing Don’t tell me that hurts less than a broken bone That an ingrown life Is something surgeons can cut away That there’s no way for it to metastasize It does She was eight years old Our first day of grade three When she got called ugly We both got moved to the back of the class So we would stop get bombarded by spit balls But the school halls were a battleground Where we found ourselves outnumbered day after wretched day We used to stay inside for recess Because outside was worse Outside we’d have to rehearse running away Or learn to stay still like statues giving no clues that we were there In grade five they taped a sign to her desk That read beware of dog To this day Despite a loving husband She doesn’t think she’s beautiful Because of a birthmark That takes up a little less than half of her face Kids used to say she looks like a wrong answer That someone tried to erase But couldn’t quite get the job done And they’ll never understand That she’s raising two kids Whose definition of beauty Begins with the word mom Because they see her heart Before they see her skin Because she’s only ever always been amazing He Was a broken branch Grafted onto a different family tree Adopted Not because his parents opted for a different destiny He was three when he became a mixed drink Of one part left alone And two parts tragedy Started therapy in 8th grade Had a personality made up of tests and pills Lived like the uphills were mountains And the downhills were cliffs Four fifths suicidal A tidal wave of anti depressants And an adolescence of being called popper One part because of the pills Ninety nine parts because of the cruelty He tried to kill himself in grade ten When a kid who could still go home to mom and dad Had the audacity to tell him “get over it” as if depression Is something that can be remedied By any of the contents found in a first aid kit To this day He is a stick of TNT lit from both ends Could describe to you in detail the way the sky bends In the moments before it’s about to fall And despite an army of friends Who all call him an inspiration He remains a conversation piece between people Who can’t understand Sometimes becoming drug free Has less to do with addiction And more to do with sanity We weren’t the only kids who grew up this way To this day Kids are still being called names The classics were Hey stupid Hey spaz Seems like each school has an arsenal of names Getting updated every year And if a kid breaks in a school And no one around chooses to hear Do they make a sound? Are they just the background noise Of a soundtrack stuck on repeat When people say things like Kids can be cruel? Every school was a big top circus tent And the pecking order went From acrobats to lion tamers From clowns to carnies All of these were miles ahead of who we were We were freaks Lobster claw boys and bearded ladies Oddities Juggling depression and loneliness playing solitaire spin the bottle Trying to kiss the wounded parts of ourselves and heal But at night While the others slept We kept walking the tightrope It was practice And yes Some of us fell But I want to tell them That all of this shit Is just debris Leftover when we finally decide to smash all the things we thought We used to be And if you can’t see anything beautiful about yourself Get a better mirror Look a little closer Stare a little longer Because there’s something inside you That made you keep trying Despite everyone who told you to quit You built a cast around your broken heart And signed it yourself You signed it “They were wrong” Because maybe you didn’t belong to a group or a clique Maybe they decided to pick you last for basketball or everything Maybe you used to bring bruises and broken teeth To show and tell but never told Because how can you hold your ground If everyone around you wants to bury you beneath it You have to believe that they were wrong They have to be wrong Why else would we still be here? We grew up learning to cheer on the underdog Because we see ourselves in them We stem from a root planted in the belief That we are not what we were called We are not abandoned cars stalled out and Sitting empty on a highway And if in some way we are Don’t worry We only got out to walk and get gas We are graduating members from the class of Fuck Off We Made It Not the faded echoes of voices crying out Names will never hurt me Of course They did But our lives will only ever always Continue to be A balancing act That has less to do with pain And more to do with beauty

“To This Day Project // Shane Koyczan 

[dancing1nwonderland]

When I was a kid I used to think that pork chops and karate chops Were the same thing I thought they were both pork chops And because my grandmother thought it was cute And because they were my favourite She let me keep doing it Not really a big deal One day Before I realized fat kids are not designed to climb trees I fell out of a tree And bruised the right side of my body I didn’t want to tell my grandmother about it Because I was afraid I’d get in trouble For playing somewhere that I shouldn’t have been A few days later the gym teacher noticed the bruise And I got sent to the principal’s office From there I was sent to another small room With a really nice lady Who asked me all kinds of questions About my life at home I saw no reason to lie As far as I was concerned Life was pretty good I told her, “Whenever I’m sad My grandmother gives me karate chops” This led to a full scale investigation And I was removed from the house for three days Until they finally decided to ask how I got the bruises News of this silly little story quickly spread through the school And I earned my first nickname Pork Chop To this day I hate pork chops I’m not the only kid Who grew up this way Surrounded by people who used to say That rhyme about sticks and stones As if broken bones Hurt more than the names we got called And we got called them all So we grew up believing no one Would ever fall in love with us That we’d be lonely forever That we’d never meet someone To make us feel like the sun Was something they built for us In their tool shed So broken heart strings bled the blues As we tried to empty ourselves So we would feel nothing Don’t tell me that hurts less than a broken bone That an ingrown life Is something surgeons can cut away That there’s no way for it to metastasize It does She was eight years old Our first day of grade three When she got called ugly We both got moved to the back of the class So we would stop get bombarded by spit balls But the school halls were a battleground Where we found ourselves outnumbered day after wretched day We used to stay inside for recess Because outside was worse Outside we’d have to rehearse running away Or learn to stay still like statues giving no clues that we were there In grade five they taped a sign to her desk That read beware of dog To this day Despite a loving husband She doesn’t think she’s beautiful Because of a birthmark That takes up a little less than half of her face Kids used to say she looks like a wrong answer That someone tried to erase But couldn’t quite get the job done And they’ll never understand That she’s raising two kids Whose definition of beauty Begins with the word mom Because they see her heart Before they see her skin Because she’s only ever always been amazing He Was a broken branch Grafted onto a different family tree Adopted Not because his parents opted for a different destiny He was three when he became a mixed drink Of one part left alone And two parts tragedy Started therapy in 8th grade Had a personality made up of tests and pills Lived like the uphills were mountains And the downhills were cliffs Four fifths suicidal A tidal wave of anti depressants And an adolescence of being called popper One part because of the pills Ninety nine parts because of the cruelty He tried to kill himself in grade ten When a kid who could still go home to mom and dad Had the audacity to tell him “get over it” as if depression Is something that can be remedied By any of the contents found in a first aid kit To this day He is a stick of TNT lit from both ends Could describe to you in detail the way the sky bends In the moments before it’s about to fall And despite an army of friends Who all call him an inspiration He remains a conversation piece between people Who can’t understand Sometimes becoming drug free Has less to do with addiction And more to do with sanity We weren’t the only kids who grew up this way To this day Kids are still being called names The classics were Hey stupid Hey spaz Seems like each school has an arsenal of names Getting updated every year And if a kid breaks in a school And no one around chooses to hear Do they make a sound? Are they just the background noise Of a soundtrack stuck on repeat When people say things like Kids can be cruel? Every school was a big top circus tent And the pecking order went From acrobats to lion tamers From clowns to carnies All of these were miles ahead of who we were We were freaks Lobster claw boys and bearded ladies Oddities Juggling depression and loneliness playing solitaire spin the bottle Trying to kiss the wounded parts of ourselves and heal But at night While the others slept We kept walking the tightrope It was practice And yes Some of us fell But I want to tell them That all of this shit Is just debris Leftover when we finally decide to smash all the things we thought We used to be And if you can’t see anything beautiful about yourself Get a better mirror Look a little closer Stare a little longer Because there’s something inside you That made you keep trying Despite everyone who told you to quit You built a cast around your broken heart And signed it yourself You signed it “They were wrong” Because maybe you didn’t belong to a group or a clique Maybe they decided to pick you last for basketball or everything Maybe you used to bring bruises and broken teeth To show and tell but never told Because how can you hold your ground If everyone around you wants to bury you beneath it You have to believe that they were wrong They have to be wrong Why else would we still be here? We grew up learning to cheer on the underdog Because we see ourselves in them We stem from a root planted in the belief That we are not what we were called We are not abandoned cars stalled out and Sitting empty on a highway And if in some way we are Don’t worry We only got out to walk and get gas We are graduating members from the class of Fuck Off We Made It Not the faded echoes of voices crying out Names will never hurt me Of course They did But our lives will only ever always Continue to be A balancing act That has less to do with pain And more to do with beauty

To This Day, Shane Koyczan

[elefantimmond]

When I was a kid, I used to think that pork chops and karate chops were the same thing. I thought they were both pork chops. And because my grandmother thought it was cute and because they were my favourite she let me keep doing it. Not relly a big deal. On day, before I realized fat kids are not designed to climb trees I fell out of a tree and bruised the side of my body. I didn't want to tell my grandmother about it because I was scared I'd get in trouble for playing somewhere that I shouldn't have been. A few days later the gym teacher noticed the bruise and I got sent to the principal's office. From there I was sent to another small room with a really nice lady who asked me all kinds of questions about my life at home. I saw no reason to lie. As far as I was concerned life was pretty good. I told her, "Whenever I'm sad my grandmother gives me karate chops." This led to a full scale investigation and I was removed from the house for three days... until they finally decided to ask how I got the bruises. News of this silly little story quickly spread through the school and I earnded my first nickname: Pork Chop. To this day... I hate pork chops. I'm not the only kid who grew up this way. Surrounded by people who used to say that rhyme... about sticks and stones. As if broken bones hurt more than the names we got called and we got called them all. So we grew up believing no one would ever fall in love with us. That we'd be lonely forever. That we'd never meet someone to make us feel like the sun was somethin they built for us in their tool shed. So broken heart strings bled the blues as we tried to empty ourselves so we would feel nothing. Don't tell me that hurts less than a broken bone. That an ingrown life is something surgeons can cut away. That there's no way for it to metastasize. It does. 

She was eight years old... Our first day of grade three when she got called "ugly". We both got moved to the back of the class so we would stop getting bombarded by spit balls. But the school halls were a battleground where we found ourselves outnumbered day after wretched day. We used to stay inside for recess because outside was worse. Outside we'd have to rehearse running away or learn to stay still like statues giving no clues that we were there. In grade five they taped a sign to her desk that read "Beware of Dog." 

To this day, despite a loving husband, she doesn't think she's beautiful because of a birthmark that takes up a little less than half of her face. Kids used to say she looks like a wron answer that someone tried to erase but couldn't quite get the job done. And they'll never understand that she's raising two kids whose definition of beauty begins with the word "Mom." Because they see her heart before they see her skin. That she's only ever always been amazing. 

He was a broken branch grafted onto a different family tree. Adopted but not because his parents opted for a different destiny. He was three when he became a mixed drink of one part left alone and two parts tragedy. Started therapy in 8th grade. Had a personality made up of tests and pills. Lived like the uphills were mountains and the downhills were cliffs. Four fifths suicidal, a tidal wave of anti-depressants, and an adolescence of being called “Popper.” One part because of the pills and ninety nine parts because of the cruelty. He tried to kill himself in grade ten when a kid who could still go home to mom and dad had the audacity to tell him “get over it.” As if depression is something that can be remedied by any of the contents found in a first aid kit. 

To this day, he is a stick of TNT lit from both ends, could describe to you in detail the way the sky bends in the moments before it’s about to fall and despite an army of friends who all call him an inspiration, he remains a conversation piece between people who can’t understand sometimes becoming drug free has less to do with addiction and mre to do with sanity.

We weren’t the only kids who grew up this way. To this day kids are still being called names. The classics were “Hey stupid”, “Hey spaz”. Seems like each school has an arsenal of names getting updated every year and if a kid breaks in a school and no one around chooses to hear do they make a sound? Are they just the background noise of a soundtrack stuck on repeat when people say things like “kids can be cruel”?  Every school was a big top circus tent and the pecking order went from acrobats to lion tamers, from clowns to carnies. All of these were miles ahead of who we were. 

We were freaks.

Lobster claw boys and bearded ladies, Oddities, juggling depression and loneliness, playing Solitaire, spin the bottle, trying to kiss the wounded parts of ourselves and heal.  But at night, while the others slept we kept walking the tightrope. It was practice and yeah, some of us fell. But I want to tell them that all of this is just debris, leftover when we finally decide to smash all the thins we thought we used to be.

And if you can’t see anything beautiful about yourself, get a better mirror. Look a little closer. Stare a little longer. Because there’s something inside you that made you keep trying despite everyone tho told you to quit. You built a cast around your broken heart and signed it yourself. You signed it, “they were wrong.” Because maybe you didn’t belong to a group or clique. Maybe they decided to pick you last for basketball or everything. Maybe you used to bring bruises and broken teeth to show and tell but never told because how can you hold your ground if everyone around you wants to bury you beneath it?

You have to believe that they were wrong. The have to be wrong. Why else would we still be here? We grew up learning to cheer on the underdog because we see ourselves in them. We stem from a root planted in the belief that we are not what we were called. We are not abandoned cars stalled out and sitting empty on a highway. And if in some way we are, don’t worry. We only got out to walk and get gas. We are graduating members from the class of “we made it.” Not the faded echoes of voices crying out “names will never hurt me.” Of course, they did. But our lives will only ever always continue to be a balancing act that has less to do with pain...  and more to do with beauty.