6.40am. My alarm goes off. After four beeps I turn it off and get out of bed (right leg on the floor first followed by left).
6.45am I eat breakfast, cornflakes with skimmed milk and a glass filled 60% of the way up with orange juice, the supermarket's own brand, never with bits. I get dressed and brush my teeth precisely 34 brushes.
7.00am I go out of my house and walk to school. I have to lock the door with three turns of the key, and then check it is locked properly six times before I walk from the porch. Only this morning as I was checking the door was locked properly for the fourth time I heard a voice. A voice in my head. But this one was a different one to the usual. The usual voice reminds me that all the pencils in my tin must be arranged in height order, and that I need to enter each classroom twice to make sure everyone is there. This voice sounded ethereal. Sparkling.
Flee here Olivia. The police will come in six minutes' time and try to arrest you for the murder of Joanne, a girl in your school. Run to the woods, you will find the others there.
7.01am I run down the street, turn right, then left, then right again, because this is the way to the park. From the park I run round the children's adventure playground and approximately a metre and a half away is the start of the wood. It is cordoned off by chicken wire but there is a hole six metres along, large enough for, say, a thirteen year old boy to climb through. Luckily I am small for my age.
7.10am I run so far into the woods I lose my bearings. I stop and catch my breath. I register the fact that a girl in my school, in my year, has died. I feel tears well up in my eyes, more in my right.
7.12am I start running again, recalling that last Thursday I lent Joanne a yellow biro with a cartoon duck on during history for precisely twenty-nine minutes and fifty six seconds. She had placed the cap on not adjacent to the tip of the duck's bill where I usually position it.
7.16am I find a small house, a little delapidated. I see five shadows there. The voice in my head, the new voice, tells me that these are people from my school who will not judge me.
7.17am I recognise all of these people and know that some of them have judged me before. I recall a year ago when a girl in my year commented on me being a "neatfreak". I recall how I cried but made sure I used a Kleenex pocket size tissue to wipe away my six tears once they had reached my cheeks.
7.19am I enter the house, look at all of the people around me.
'What is this?'