become a sheep.
Baaaah. His father’s mocking voice kicked up inside his skull. Baaaah, baaaah, Kenty-sheep, have you any wool? Yes sir, yes sir! Three bags full . . .
Kent bit down on his tongue. His father’s voice switched off like a radio as his mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood.
They stood on a stony promontory. The salt-heavy wind riffled and snapped at the boy’s clothing. At their backs lay the darkness of the forest. Kent screwed his eyes against the shivering water. Perhaps a mile away the white surf crested on the rusted bones of a sunken freighter. The sky met the sea at the horizon. Kent found it impossible to separate one from the other: sea and sky welded together without a joint.
Sudden thunder arose. A helicopter breasted the latticework of trees. Black and muscular looking: not a traffic or sightseeing helicopter.
The boys’ faces broke into delighted grins. They waved. The chopper climbed into the sky and rotated around with its nose tilted down, then dropped abruptly. The pulse of its blades burred painfully inside the boys’ skulls. Kent could smell the frictionless grease the mechanics used to lubricate its rotors: a little like cherry Certs.
The helicopter lifted up with predatory grace, swung round, and fled into the open sea. Squinting, Kent could just make out a series of squat dark shapes strung across its flight path.
“Ships out there,” newton said. “looks like they’re anchored. The military does maneuvers out here sometimes . . . but I mean, that’s an awful lot of ships.”
“maybe they’re whaling ships,” said Kent. “You better watch out, newt—they’re coming to harpoon your fat ass.”
As the boys’ riotous laughter washed over him, newt’s eyes returned to the water. Kent felt better; the equilibrium reestablished and he was in control again—newt was always good for that—but still, a bitter alkaline taste slimed his tongue, as if he were sucking on an old battery.
EVIDENCE LOG, CASE 518C
PIECE T-09 (Personal Effects)
Counseling Diary of Ephraim Elliot
Recovered from SITE T (5 Elm Street, North Point, Prince
Edward Island) by Officer Brian Skelly, badge #908
Okay so Mr. Harley here it is. One page like you asked. Who knew a psychologist would give me homework!!!
So you wanted me to tell a story. Just a story of why sometimes, out of nowhere, I get real angry. Like really REALLY angry and get in fights. Why I want to punch my fist in a wall or in some stupid jerks face. At first I got angry at you for asking WHY I was angry. FUUUUUNY! But then I think, okay, your just doing your job (sorry for my spelling and all that). So here goes.
First, I KNOW I get angry. Mom says its my dad in my blood. My dads a real bad guy ok? Shes scared Im going to be like him. Which makes me angry (shocker!). Anyway I TRY to stop the anger. Like when I get real pissed Ill do something to push it out of me. Cat walk my bike off the seawall or climb up to the schools roof. And ok those things are RISKY, I could break my fool neck mom says . . . but the anger goes away. Maybe the fear pushes it away? I dont know why. Im not a scientist. Max calls me a dare devil but thats not it. To me its like a person taking a pill cuz hes got a headake, or that pink stuff cuz his tummy hurts. Medisin, right?
But thats just what I do when I GET angry. You asked WHY I get that way.
Remember the circus came? Maybe two years ago? Everyone at school was stoked. It NEVER comes. So we all buy tickets and go and its the saddest thing. The animals were all sick and skin-and-bones and stuff. Their hair was falling out in big chunks. The elefants were droopy, trunks in the dirt. Newton Thornton even started to CRY, can you believe? What a WUSS.
Remember how one of the animals got away? A tiger. Broke out of the cage and escaped into the fields. Everyone FREAKED. Kents dad was driving with a gun hanging out the policecar window. The cat was gone like 3 days? People started to figure it
Baaaah. His father’s mocking voice kicked up inside his skull. Baaaah, baaaah, Kenty-sheep, have you any wool? Yes sir, yes sir! Three bags full . . .
Kent bit down on his tongue. His father’s voice switched off like a radio as his mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood.
They stood on a stony promontory. The salt-heavy wind riffled and snapped at the boy’s clothing. At their backs lay the darkness of the forest. Kent screwed his eyes against the shivering water. Perhaps a mile away the white surf crested on the rusted bones of a sunken freighter. The sky met the sea at the horizon. Kent found it impossible to separate one from the other: sea and sky welded together without a joint.
Sudden thunder arose. A helicopter breasted the latticework of trees. Black and muscular looking: not a traffic or sightseeing helicopter.
The boys’ faces broke into delighted grins. They waved. The chopper climbed into the sky and rotated around with its nose tilted down, then dropped abruptly. The pulse of its blades burred painfully inside the boys’ skulls. Kent could smell the frictionless grease the mechanics used to lubricate its rotors: a little like cherry Certs.
The helicopter lifted up with predatory grace, swung round, and fled into the open sea. Squinting, Kent could just make out a series of squat dark shapes strung across its flight path.
“Ships out there,” newton said. “looks like they’re anchored. The military does maneuvers out here sometimes . . . but I mean, that’s an awful lot of ships.”
“maybe they’re whaling ships,” said Kent. “You better watch out, newt—they’re coming to harpoon your fat ass.”
As the boys’ riotous laughter washed over him, newt’s eyes returned to the water. Kent felt better; the equilibrium reestablished and he was in control again—newt was always good for that—but still, a bitter alkaline taste slimed his tongue, as if he were sucking on an old battery.
EVIDENCE LOG, CASE 518C
PIECE T-09 (Personal Effects)
Counseling Diary of Ephraim Elliot
Recovered from SITE T (5 Elm Street, North Point, Prince
Edward Island) by Officer Brian Skelly, badge #908
Okay so Mr. Harley here it is. One page like you asked. Who knew a psychologist would give me homework!!!
So you wanted me to tell a story. Just a story of why sometimes, out of nowhere, I get real angry. Like really REALLY angry and get in fights. Why I want to punch my fist in a wall or in some stupid jerks face. At first I got angry at you for asking WHY I was angry. FUUUUUNY! But then I think, okay, your just doing your job (sorry for my spelling and all that). So here goes.
First, I KNOW I get angry. Mom says its my dad in my blood. My dads a real bad guy ok? Shes scared Im going to be like him. Which makes me angry (shocker!). Anyway I TRY to stop the anger. Like when I get real pissed Ill do something to push it out of me. Cat walk my bike off the seawall or climb up to the schools roof. And ok those things are RISKY, I could break my fool neck mom says . . . but the anger goes away. Maybe the fear pushes it away? I dont know why. Im not a scientist. Max calls me a dare devil but thats not it. To me its like a person taking a pill cuz hes got a headake, or that pink stuff cuz his tummy hurts. Medisin, right?
But thats just what I do when I GET angry. You asked WHY I get that way.
Remember the circus came? Maybe two years ago? Everyone at school was stoked. It NEVER comes. So we all buy tickets and go and its the saddest thing. The animals were all sick and skin-and-bones and stuff. Their hair was falling out in big chunks. The elefants were droopy, trunks in the dirt. Newton Thornton even started to CRY, can you believe? What a WUSS.
Remember how one of the animals got away? A tiger. Broke out of the cage and escaped into the fields. Everyone FREAKED. Kents dad was driving with a gun hanging out the policecar window. The cat was gone like 3 days? People started to figure it
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