Inexplicably, Isaac ran headlong into the wall, the force of the impact leaving him splayed out on the ground. The concrete was cold. His head throbbed. The unfamiliar ground began to seep into him. He had been – where? He found he was clutching a lighter, silver. He moved his hands to stand and felt something. A line of paint. A car park. He was in a car park. He had come from – where?

  Using his phone for light he surveyed the surrounding grey. He knew it, somehow. Trolleys were stacked in a corner. On the street below, a tree. A tree: no, it was not a tree. He ran down the footpath and found the familiar letters, BEN. And opposite a dilapidated set of houses, the same that used to stand here. At 31 Sussex Street, the name BEN. Only a simple, shared joke imprinted in concrete survived. He grabbed the light. He had been with Ben seconds ago. What had they talked about?

  It was unusual for this to happen with someone he knew. Usually it was with strangers who were trying to lie. He would get catapulted through time and space to the source of their dishonesty. Through the memory that sat below the surface of their lie, pooling behind their eyes. Had Ben lied?

  He ran toward the train station. It was right past the empty houses, and past the new Coles, past where he used to play basketball. The train pulled into the platform. He soothed his head on the smooth glass window. Ho took out the lighter. He searched his memory. What had Ben said to bring him back here? What had he remembered about the now demolished house? The one that burned to the ground after a crazy neighbor set it alight.

  He arrived at his street, the small townhouses stacked neatly, and identical. The roof was red tile, sloping toward the apex shared with the next house, which slid down again to earth. A zigzag all the way along.

  This had been the only time it happened with Ben. The first time he was walking down the street when he was only ten. He brushed past a hurried looking woman and was suddenly transported to her basement. The washing machine was overflowing his feet felt soaked. She burst in a few moments later. They looked at each other. He had no way of explaining himself, so he climbed through the window and ran. It was years until he figured out what had happened. Somehow, he accessed her memory. It frightened and confused him, still to this day. The last time it had happened was with his crazy next-door neighbor, old Thomas. He was being taken into custody and grabbed hold of the boy. Isaac was flung into the old mans living room, still with his dinner on the table, TV buzzing away. Back then Isaac didn’t fully understand the memory, but it now all fitted together perfectly.

  He knocked at the door fervently

“What did you say?” he asked

“Hey, nice to see you too” Ben tried to joke.

“Just tell me”

“It doesn’t matter, come in and finish your dinner”. Isaac didn’t move

“What did you say?” he repeated, slower this time

“I … err …” he faltered

“I have your lighter, something about a lighter” Ben surveyed it

“That’s an old one. It could have been anything. I’ve had it for years”. His nonchalance was clearly false.

“Because you smoke” Isaac assumed

“Y-yeah. That’s it, you got me, now come in and don’t tell mum’

“You’re lying’ Isaac stared him in the eye

“You don’t smoke”

The realization hit him like a train

“When did you last light this?” Isaac asked. In the millisecond it took for the memory to flit through Ben’s mind, Isaac touched him.

First off. I NEVER HAVE TO DO A FREAKIN ENGLISH PAPER IN MY EVER HOLY CRAP OMFG OMFG DWLAFJHDSKALFH ERWJKALHR FJHDUEY T FUYFYFD BEEEHEEHTEJ 

So basically it was shit? LOL MODULE A HHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAA +MODULE B WAS ALRIGHT IDK? + AND MODULE C I DIDN'T FINISH = FAIL!!!!! 

English Paper 2

General Maths

French Beginners

Music 1

English paper 1 is over. And I feel like a freakin zombie of death. That was so hard I want to cry but now I have to study for paper 2 which is even worse what am I doing with my life. 

So yeah basically it was shit and hard so I guess that's that isn't it? 

I'm really tired k do you guys understand? If not I may come to you and sleep on you. 

I haven't had a breakdown at any point in time. I've done my study like a good girl. Hell, for some of them, I've just gone in with a dictionary and gone excellently (this is strictly for French). I've calmed down my friends who were having a crisis. I've been calm, confident, and, in general, absolutely fine.

So why do I now feel like I'm going to freaking fail every exam I have?

I just feel like there's this massive pit of fear, anxiety, and general paranoia swirling around in my stomach. I mean, I've studied. But I don't think I've studied enough.

Well, if nothing else, I can sit on Tumblr for the rest of my life and no-one will judge me...

God, I'm going to need a care package for the day we get our results. If I do well, I'll need it to celebrate. If I don't, well, I'll be needing a lot of tissues.

Still, at least my mum's reassured me that she'll be happy, whatever I get. Which is big, because Mum usually isn't as reassuring.