My Life as Oliver Brown (Slow Updates) (Editing)

One: My Life as The New Guy

The Universe is a magnificent and intriguing thing, but just as magnificent, it can be disastrous and uncertain; and what is more important, it never works the way you want it to work.

It's all about a chain of reactions. One thing leads to another. You only need three things to create a chain of reactions: a puddle, an instable tube and a rock.

The puddle would make you slip; you would try to hold onto the instable tube (which would break) and finally you would fall and hit your head with a rock. Then, your parents would find you laying half conscious on the floor, just centimeters apart from the edge of a tall building. They would think you tried to kill yourself (which you would've done by jumping off the tall building, not by hitting your head with a rock) and they would think you have some sort of mental illness. Which leads us to the disaster: a visit to the psychologist twice at week.

Think about it, you'd only need of three things to create a whole mess.

That's just so me.

I was an irony myself: "the prodigy who tried to commit suicide". No one ever understood why I did it. Correction. Why I tried it. I had a wealthy family, I was an A+ student, I played in the orchestra, I did this thing, and I did that other thing. People liked to speculate a lot.

The horn of the car made me come back to reality. We had stopped in what would be my new school. My mom had decided I needed to start all over again, and she hadn't lost the chance to find a school that would suit my "need for blending in society". Apparently, I was going to a public school.

When Dr. Dennings asked me how many friends I had on my private school, my long silence told her what she needed to know. Then she asked me: "And why don't you have friends?".

"Because they are all idiots"

"What if you're just saying they're idiots because that's what you really think of yourself?"

"Maybe"

The truth was, they were all a bunch of idiots. They thought they were better than others because they had plenty of money, and their egocentrism was as high as the "cool quiffs" they had.

She convinced my mom I needed to change my "habitat" – which isn't a proper word to describe a place where people live, only animals – to a less stressing one, also know as (I know I could resume that as a.k.a. but I've never liked using any kind of slang) a Public School.

I opened the car's door and I started to panic. I wasn't really an out-going person; it was hard for me to make new friends.

My mom patted my back, which didn't make me feel better at all.

"Oliver promise me you will try" I nodded. "Let's go"

"No" I answered. "Mom, I want to do this alone"

I didn't give her chance to speak and walked away.

Thankfully, I found the Principal's Office right away. A thin lady with a little nose and tiny glasses was typing behind a desk. When she averted me, she pointed an empty seat in front of her gesturing me to seat, and so I did.

The fingers of the secretary tapping the computer keypad were the loudest sound in the room. The fading songs in the background, played by the old little radio placed in the secretary's desk couldn't be called a proper sound. It made singers like Frank Sinatra (who I didn't like so much) sound distorted and with interruptions every eight seconds. The secretary didn't bother though.

I found myself fidgeting my fingers again as I stared at the old frames with old pictures, of old people; all of them painted. There were thirteen frames to be certain. Each one of them was different, yet alike. The style was the same, and admirable. The hard work the painter must've done in the eyes surprised me the most. I learned that profundity is what makes them more real, therefore it gives you the impression they are watching you. They seemed real.