A NotebookMature


Jake hugged me at the door, making me promise to visit again in the next month. I looked back as I walked away and burst out laughing.

"Oh my god, Jake, I think there's a hobo on the roof."

"What?" he came to stand next to me and I pointed to where what looked like the silhouette of a person was laid. "Oh my god, I think you're right. Hey there! Hey! You should probably get down from there! Sir?"

"Nah, I don't think it's a person any more," I grinned. "That was definitely loud enough to wake them up."

He frowned. "Mm. It's probably just a pile of clothes. Someone trying to get out of doing laundry duty, it wouldn't be the first time it's happened."

"Sounds like experience."

"Yep, and I don't plan to get any experience in dealing with it. See ya later, Sam."

"Good luck with Anna," I teased.


It was quite a walk home. I hadn't thought to bring bus fare for the journey back. 

Near here, there was a lake. I couldn't remember what it was called but it was always very pretty. 

It started to rain lightly and stopped around the time I reached the lake. I was soaked through. I had tied my hair back into a ponytail but it was still dripping and small streams of water were running down my face.

In the lake, something black was bobbing about. 

Thinking something along the lines of that I was already wet so what difference would it make, I knelt by the edge and leant over as far as I could and guided it over with my fingers.

It was a notebook, by the look of it. When I opened it, everything inside was smudged.

"Aw, that's a shame," I muttered, turning it over and shaking it in an attempt to flick off some of the water. "Maybe I can dry it somehow with my stupid people-deflecting fire powers."

Inevitably, when I actually tried, nothing happened. I thought about doing it the way I lit the candles.

"No, that would just set it on fire," I used my arm to wipe water from my face to be met with a large, black smudge. "Oh wow, I bet my make-up looks like crap."

My next idea was stupid but it probably wouldn't work anyway. I just opened my mouth and breathed on it. And it started to steam as I started coughing. A small amount of blood spattered the front page, which was still open, following a sharp pain in my throat.

"Oh shit, that's bad," I mumbled, lips shaking. "Oh god, oh god."

I shoved the drying notebook into my bag and fumbled for my phone. "Um, Mum? Mum. Yeah, it's me. I think I burnt my throat."

"What? Sam, I told you not to do the fire thing!"

"I wasn't," I spluttered. "I was but now I'm choking on blood so-"

"You're in trouble, Sam. I'll call you an ambulance, make sure you're outside the boarding house." And she cut off the phone.

I ran back the way I had come, trying to breathe through my nose rather than my mouth and failing quite badly. 

The ambulance arrived two minutes later, but my throat had already stopped hurting. On the way to the hospital, they shone a little light in there and told me that it looked like I just had a sore throat. However, two hours and lots of tests later, I was in the teenager ward, diagnosed with something they made up called "combustive body heat". What that meant was that my body was so hot on the inside that I should technically be on fire. 

They'd attached to a drip containing god-knows-what, and kept bringing me ice-cream every half an hour after they discovered that water evaporated if I tried to drink it. 

I had no idea what the hell was going on, but I did know that I no longer trusted my local doctor. 

The End

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