Current emotion: Numbness.

I kissed a girl I didn't love. I had no idea why.

I lay on my bed and stared up at the unhelpful ceiling. What did I do now?

The honourable thing would be ... Actually, I didn't know. Would it be to go out with her so that she was happy and I didn't break her heart after I had raised her hopes? Or would it be to admit that I hadn't felt anything during the kiss and the kiss itself had been unexpected on my part too.


The thoughts of the unhappy go round and round in circles until they blur into a formless incoherent blob of despair in one's mind.


I stood up. I needed to escape. But how? How does one escape oneself?

I left the house and strode to the local playing field. I got there and realised I hadn't brought a football.

And there were no matches to watch.

But there was a bench. A bench could be helpful. Never mind that someone else was sitting there too - they wouldn't disturb me.

I sat down and leant back, closing my eyes.

"Carter Maxwell?" The voice is familiar and the tone is awed. I opened my eyes to see Mark Lievener gaping at me.

"Hi," I said.

He seemed to struggle for a moment but he regained composure and replied, in a voice which failed to suppress his amazement, "Hi."

Well, could life have been anymore eventful?

The End

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