Settling in

It was a typical Friday, so Mark sat in silence, pretending to respect his headmaster as part of a crowd scene. Marks headmaster was insecure and had manipulated hundreds of other peoples kids into staring at him in silence, so he could make believe hundreds of people respected him.

People were told to sing ‘All things bright and beautiful’. At lunch Mark walked around the playground perimeter in frightened silence, trying to be invisible, especially from his fellow seven year old Wayne. Wayne had convinced the playground (including Mark himself) that Mark was eternally contaminated.

Mark was lucky this lunchtime, as Wayne was busy repelling girls by waving a dogturd on the end of a stick. The school had a good reputation locally.

It had exploited all the childrens personal relationships with God to confuse them into obedience and Mark was unable to deduce whether the stupid malice of his mother, Wayne and the headmaster were linked, as the nearest thug or control freak was able to pose as God to him. Control of Mark had made them feel closer to God, whilst being so traumatic for Mark it had left him repressing his need for God and people in general.

When the whistle blew, everyone became well behaved and pretended to be Anglican. Waiting for the afternoons lessons, Mark and Wayne lined up in the corridor. Wayne had found a spider and was tormenting it in order to torment Mark, who was terrified that Wayne would follow through with his threat and start pulling off human legs next. The mornings hymn had been ineffective. The teacher began compulsively repeating times tables until Mark felt dizzy. Mark longed to be in his bedroom.

His Mum and his teachers would occasionally exchange misleading shtick about how much they cared for Mark and how he was now a good pupil.
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It was a typical Saturday and Mark spent his time in his bedroom to avoid his Mum shouting lies at him that he was wrong about something. He came down the stairs for a meal but his mother was offended by his lack of eye contact, so he had to go back upstairs again. No matter how hard he tried to pretend to respect her, it wasnt good enough.

She still remembered him as the spiteful baby who would throw up on her and laugh. As a baby, he could neither understand grammar nor use pragmatism, so her angry instructions had been ineffectual. Today it was lack of eye contact as last week it had been looking at her 'in the wrong way'.

Mark internally winced at every slam of a door and bang against a surface that he heard through the ceiling. He knew that they were aimed at him but he didnt know what he was doing wrong.

‘Ive been well behaved. I dont complain about school and Im quiet at home. What more can I do?’ thought Mark, as he looked out the window at each passing car.

This was quite deliberate of his mother, to keep him on edge. From his toddlerhood onward, she successfully made him feel terrible and she was now a real maternalissimo.

In his room, he fantasized about being saved by his father. The weekends were when his father might visit, so Mark always hoped on Saturdays. His mothers postnatal weight gain had put her boyfriend off sex, leaving her inventing rows for passion. Her boyfriends exit left her trying to get a turn on from shouting at her son. Mark listened out for the ring of a phone or the knock of a door.

The evening darkened and Mark walked over to the window less and less. ‘Dad must not know how I feel, or hes doing something important’ thought Mark. Mark only believed good things about his father, even though Mark was born of his Dads rape fantasies as well as his Mums plan to cement her relationship with her boyfriends credit card.

As the evening ended, Mark felt abandoned as he realized that his Dad wasnt coming. Nottingham Forest had been playing an away game that day.
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It was a typical Sunday so Mark sat in silence, pretending to respect his vicar as part of a crowd scene. Mark felt nothing except the angst of being around other people, so the dry religious talk of pilgrims and people walking on water two thousand years ago just sounded - peculiar - to him. Everyone tried to sing along to a tuneless hymn, whilst cautiously masking their own tunelessness.

He wondered if he had missed something but knew the pointlessness of asking adults anything. After his last attempts at questioning Christianity, Marks mother told him the parable of 'Doubting Thomas'. He didnt understand so his mother told him again. This helped Mark to not understand the point a second time.

Today his Mum took him to the vicar who said the same things and Mark just gave up and pretended to understand, which helped the vicar feel closer to God. Mark remained anxious and confused, climbing into his mothers car a stiff heathen.

His mum and his vicar would occasionally exchange misleading shtick about how much they cared for Mark and how he was now a good Christian.
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He now counted as completely settled at home, at school and in church. When the light was out, he began worrying about Monday, when he would again walk around the playground perimeter feeling eternally damned by incomprehensible forces.