Page 99 of Fallen Thorns
I won, but only because the other entries were from reception children who scribbled pictures as opposed to writing. The following day there was an assembly expressing the sheer disappointment at the fact that no one entered and what an utter disgrace it was that we all preferred playing computer games than ‘god forbid, reading a book for once!’
Reading lessons became mandatory at the beginning of every afternoon, much to everyone else’s dismay, and I had to mask the fact that it became the only reason I wanted to actually turn up to school every day.
My mum read the poem out to Mars, who looked as if they’d already read through its entirety in their head because they peered up at me with puppy eyes before my mum had finished.
“That’s beautiful, Arlo. Wow.” Their voice was so genuine that I was no longer embarrassed.Really?
“How old were you when you wrote that?”
“Ten. Year five.”
The two of them both stared at me then. “That’s my boy,” my mum said. “I always said he would go far.”
The photos came next. My mum apologised for embarrassing me so early in our visit, but Mars’ heavy interest won her over, and I gave in trying to stop them both.
The year 2000: Christmas in Edinburgh with my cousin, Maia, holding my one-year-old self like an offering in front of the ugliest tree ever, my face bright pink and confused.
My first cave trip aged four with a helmet drooping over my eyes and a cheese and tomato sandwich squeezed tightly in my excited hands.
My mum and I in Whitby eating fish and chips on the beach, two minutes before a seagull pooed on the blanket we were sat on.
Me wrapped up in too many layers, walking our first dog for the first time through the park.
Our first holiday abroad; my mum squeezing my shoulders and grinning as I stared down, wide eyed at my melting ice cream.
My first day at school.
My last day of sixth form.
My whole life in a box.
Arlo’s life. His humanity. The boy I will never be again.
But look at who you are becoming.
I tore at my hair and squeezed my eyes shut, crying out in pain.
“Arlo! God, baby, what’s wrong?” The box was thrown to the floor in an instant, my mother’s arms wrapping tightly around my body.
I sensed Mars following suit, but I didn’t open my eyes. My spine ached and my shoulder blades flexed unnaturally, toes curling. My head was so very crowded.
I started to convulse; my body hitting the floor. I couldn’t keep it out.
My mother hugged me from behind, supporting my head to keep me from hurting myself anymore. I tucked myself into a foetal position to try and relieve the pain; Bess was barking madly somewhere in the distance—a cry for help.
“Arlo, breathe. Can you breathe? Sweetheart,” she cried out into my back. My eyes were threatening to roll right back into my skull. I couldn’t doanything.
Help me.
“Call an ambulance,” my mum demanded. Mars’ feet hurried over to their bag, and I heard them curse under their breath, unsure what to do. I wasn’t human anymore; I couldn’t fall into the wrong hands.
I could barely breathe — barely move. A million voices warred in my head, on and on and on.
“Stop.”I commanded out of nowhere. My mum released me and I heard a phone drop onto the hard wood floor. I uncurled myself and stretched out, finally finding my feet. “I’m okay, I’m alright. It’s nothing to worry about. Those photos were just bringing back… memories.” I turned to my mum who sat, mouth agasp, on the floor. “Just happy memories.” Then I looked to Mars, frozen to the spot. I’d done it again.I’ve done it again.
“Mars, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” I brushed myself down.
The second hand on the kitchen clock ticked behind us.
