The Photographs of Your Life

We were at school when Lou came into our lives.

On those days when it rained for so long that the drains disappeared under puddles, the children were beckoned inside by the teachers. It was with some reluctance that they abandoned the precious fixes that would see them through double maths. But this was the protocol when it was wet: a break time spent watching the louder children carving abuse about the quieter ones in the condensation on the windows.

It was usually about my older brother, Mal. His refusal to involve himself in the transient social systems of school meant that many a rainy day could be spent watching the words Mal Ede is a fucking weirdo run down the glass.

Want to read more?
Please login.
New to Narrative? sign up.
It's easy and free.