When I think about it, I can remember that picture very well. Even though, at the time of her death, we weren't that close anymore. Isn't it strange what stays with us as we, well, I shouldn't say grow up - not in my case, but shall we say, mature. There are probably a million memories and pictures that happened between myself and other people, yet that photo has stayed so vivid in my mind. Why? Did I do this consciously, or do our brains work independently, and sort through memories at will; discarding some and keeping others with no preference in mind.

I have no memories of the boy Will who lay just a meter away from me in that sports hall. Nor any of anyone else there, all that has stayed with me is that picture. The blackberry bushes and everyone's cold, lifeless faces.

In death, you see, we all the look the same. Which is why, after the first twenty minutes had ticked by, and the shock had worn off, that I became accustomed to the corpses around me. And why, when that news reporter, asked me what she did, that I replied - "No, the corpses didn't bother me. Not in the end - they were dead, and for the most part, I just kept thinking: why am I not dead too?"

chapter one:

<i> The sun was extremely bright, and that irritated me. Over the summer holidays there had failed to be a single sunny day. It had been nothing but rain, sleet, and at best, the odd dry day of numbing greyness. Now that we were all shutting ourselves away again, in classrooms, in assembly halls, in the cafetiere - now the sun decided to show itself.

"Did you have a nice summer?"
"Hook up with any cute boys?"
"You look so tanned!"

I pushed past the inane chatter of everyone around me. I had once read a book 'The Perks of Being a Wall Flower'. I like to think it's a book I can identity with. Only, while that boy watched those around him, I preferred to ignore them completely. I decided