A Needle is Always A Needle

"There's a strange woman in the carpark... But I'm not scared? And if I'm not scared, then why am I walking round school trying to relieve one of my stress attacks...?"

Amy Jones is a hypochondriac and convinced that she she has everything wrong with her...that includes the crush on head-boy Jordon.
But when exams and mysterious events start to happen round her school, Amy starts to realise she might have more wrong with herself than she first thought.

Oh, gosh, a drop of blood! That’ll get infected and then I’ll get septicemia, or some other disease…

At my gasp, mom looks up and puts down her own cross-stitch.

…And then I’ll rot or die a horrid death…

I stare at the finger, the drop of blood swelling and starting to run down the digit.

…And then I’ll never get to marry or have kids or, or…

“Amy, did you prick yourself?”

It’ll be worse than dying by a knife, or being hit by a car…

“Amy?”

“Huh? Oh, mom, yes…what do I do?”

My mom sighed, but I could hear humor in her voice too,

“I’ll get a plaster. Stay there.”

“What do I do?”

“Just relax, Amy. You’ve got no reason to be worried.”

“But it’s blood!”

“Just a couple of drops…you know, you won’t get an infection.”

I sigh, yeah… but it’s not easy being constantly weary and on the look out for illnesses. I feel sick at the sight of blood, but I’m not a Hemaphobic; it’s just the fact that I’m cut or ill that makes me want to retch.

We had all the tests done and stuff, when I was showing signs of constant illness at the age of seven. It turns out I’m not afraid of blood (like my dad thought), just ‘psychologically crazy’ as my cousin, and best-friend-who-happens-to-live-across-the-street says.

The thing is: it makes school a lot harder when, no matter how many times you try, you feel sick 3/4s of the time. For my GCSEs and A-Levels, I’m taking: Biology, Psychology, Chemistry and Textiles. Don’t ask me how I’ve got it all planned out already, I just know, that’s all.

That’s the way my brain works: it can deal with the most abstract of things, but it doesn’t know why I am living in constant fear of my body.

Sigh…Oh, here’s mom with the plaster.

The End

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