loneliness
An undercover area in a primary school on a sumptuous day
It has a floor of bitumen and steel girders hold up an orange roof of steel
The Fremantle doctor is whistling through from the south-west,
Cooling the children at play
Behind one of the steel columns holding up the roof is a little boy of no more than seven: blond and wan and pale
He can’t kick a football
He always comes last in running races
He isn’t playing with the other children
He is a lone sentinel in the midst of the unalloyed joy of his peers
The mechanics of friendship are mystery to him
The mechanics of conversation are a mystery to him
His head is full of murky poison thought
Chills of freezing isolation run up and down his spine
He fears that if the others saw the darkness lurking in his heart they would be revolted
He imagines being popular and having friends sometimes but it seems an unattainable dream
His life is a solitary nightmare at school
And his nightmares are the stuff of meta-nightmares

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