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A Day in Daniel's Life - Flash Fiction by Aurora Coppola

It was one of those days, I think everyone has one of those at one stage, don’t they?

I just don’t want to go to school today—we have P.E. anyway—he thought in his brain.

Andrew, seventeen just going eighteen had his hormones playing tricks on him.

His mother went to too many teacher’s meetings to keep her hopes up so she just told him that he would have gone straight to work if he didn’t pass. Typical!

Andrew has dark blond curly hair just like his dad, but he prefers to have it cut nice and tight (like his dad used to have it, every now and again). He loves going with his canoe, he’d always wear a t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms. He was only short of going to bed like that, he felt that comfortable with it. He didn’t care about anything else at the moment.

<<I will never go back to that school, ever! >> He thought. The thing is that he already made a show of himself in numerous occasions while in class with his mates, telling the teacher to fuck off after she made smart remarks on the state of his shirt, the dirt on it!—that’s when she got a nice big fat green golly on her face—and off I go to the principal’s office, God’s speed of course!

He loved to make a bollocks of himself because he was bored to death. He was against the system. He said:

<<How dare them cunts keep talking down to me like that, who said I have to put up with this shit every day of my life, the minute I get in that classroom?>>

He said to himself: <<I don’t listen to my own parents! How come they want me to listen to what they’re saying? Freaks! >>

If there was one person I could not stand that would be the Art Teacher, her breath smells of tuna and cigarettes, I think she misses some hair too and she talks to us like we are fucking kids: <<Show Mags faces!>> and she always makes us draw still art which it is usually a composition of apple, pear, a bottle and sometimes—but only sometimes—she would swap the pear with an orange, so she would show she wasn’t lazy in work, just so we had something different to draw. Happy days! The thing is she had no interest in doing so, but she would tell you that you were going to go nowhere at the end of this, that she knows her shit so if you don’t want to do it that does not bother her in the slightest and that she still gets paid at the end of the day and that I’m the same as my brothers, I’m going to be a scumbag like them. That’s when she got a chair thrown at her because—I think—I have to carry the family’s tradition, of course!

They all think I’m going to college in the end, after all this. Who cares! Ok, bonjour finesse!

The thing is that he should have gone to school that day. His change and his uniform were neatly and religiously folded on the chair in his room that day, his own mother did it for him, she left them there for him the night before, when she and the boy had the last fight. She said he could do what he wanted once he was eighteen. He could have gone out of the house, out of her life, if he wished to. Still, she sneaked in his room and left the right outfit to ‘conquer the world’ ready for next day.

God only knows if that day would have finally come! That day, at 7:30 am (sharp) Andrew was left on his own, at home, alone, half dressed. He had a milk carton in one hand and a bottle of Absolute in the other, while the rest of his relations were gone out to sell their souls for paper notes. He stood at the fridge there for a minute and thought:

<<This is the day, this is the moment. THIS is the right time to do it.>> he kept thinking to himself: <<Nobody will notice, nobody will know>> and again: << I almost made it last time, it was Christmas Eve>> he remembered.

Alright, no bother, we will tell you what was going through his mind that night, when he was left alone for the first time, after a long time. He sat close to the fireplace with an orange in one hand and a big knife in the other. He got a hold of that orange, he examined, sliced it and then peeled it. He got one of the skins he produced and then he cut it precisely into small tiny pieces, dice shaped little pieces, then he stopped and thought:

<<I’m going to kill myself now.>>

So Andrew took the huge kitchen knife and pointed it right to his neck, not to his chest but in that spot which is located between the neck and the very start of the chest, yes, right there. Do any of you know what I’m talking about? I think they call it “collar bone”. See? I do have a brain and I do remember things, yes, but only the ones I like. Is that right?

Anyway, here we go! Andrew was ready to play his last song, using the smallest violin, a killing one this time. He felt as sad as a grey stone, he was fed up with his melancholy. That’s it, he just had enough.

The so called “melancholy” or “depression” as they say, it’s a kind of pathology which takes its name from the Latin word “deprimere” which means “pull down”. Freud once said this illness could be compared to the same pain felt for a loss—or again—the loss of an object that becomes the loss of the subject (aka the patient). They say the “patient” sees the world in a negative way, also, the “Ego” of the “patient” ends up being compromised during this process...BULLSHIT!





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