It may be that you think you have something that you may eventually find out that you don’t. Maybe it is that you’re just simply almost brainwashing yourself to believe something or, in extreme cases, it may be that your life depends on it…and that’s what was the situation for this

girl’s grandmother…Edit

Chapter 1 – Meet my History teacherEdit

It’s raining outside…again. It seems like it never will stop raining as the clouds seem to be getting denser and darker by the second, engulfing the vast world beneath them. Thick and heavy raindrops fall against the windows in the classroom I’m currently in, making it virtually impossible to concentrate. The test paper on my desk is gently flapping from the slight breeze escaping through the little cracks in the windowpanes which, after years of having to bear the weight of the thick, double-glazed glass, had slowly started to wear away and had since become a good hiding place for many little, curious insects.

I was just looking at a small ant making its way into one of these small gaps when Mr Pinkit, our History teacher, broke the deafening silence that had overtaken our room for the past hour and a half.

“Five minutes left,” he called.

A murmur arose in the class and several people put their hands up to show that they had already finished their test. For most people, that announcement from the teacher, told them that they were working well and efficiently, if they had finished, but for me, it was nothing but a thing that awoke me from my daydreams. Sighing, I looked at the twenty or so questions on my answer sheet that had been left unanswered. I picked up my pencil and hesitantly started trying, in vain, to remember what ‘flagellants’ were and who ‘William Wallace’ was.

As soon as the test had been collected, I knew that I hadn’t done as well as I probably could have. But that’s the thing about me, I try so hard to keep my concentration and focus to what the teacher is trying to tell us during lessons, that when I actually come to do the test, I find myself daydreaming off to faraway places, places that I wished would exist, places that are so much better than the place I was currently in, that I find myself incapable of doing a test, like I’m paralysed in this world, and doing all kinds of things in another.

Mr Pinkit slowly paced around the classroom, test papers in his hand, looking down his extremely long nose at the people, deep in thought. Mr Pinkit. I chuckled secretly to myself. What a name! But then I guess it suited him pretty well, with his pink complexion. His nose was permanently a maroon colour and his cheeks, normally an unpleasant pinkie colour; and if it was ever appropriate (which wasn't often seeing as it often felt like a miracle when anyone even caught a short glimpse of the blue sky above the ever-enveloping greying clouds), then Mr Pinkit would sometimes wear flips-flops and you could barely distinguish where his toenails started amongst all the pinky skin around them, not a very pleasant thought, let me grant you!

And then, despite his claims of his frequent and strict dieting, which were hardly believeable in almost every aspect, his tummy was so large and round that whenever Mr Pinkit wore a shirt - which often had excess skin and fat emerging from beneath it - the buttons were literally on the brink of destruction and the shirt on the verge of ripping.