Co-operative creative writing.

School. I drink my hot chocolate in my mug. It tastes sweet and relaxes me. I put the mug down, and continue chugging down my breakfast. Crunching down the bacon and eggs and biting off sausages. It all taste so delicious. Mom’s always the best cook. It is Monday today. My school bag rests beside the chair I’m sitting, it’s stocked with half-finished homework. I spent the whole of last night, studying into the properisation process. From the books my father keeps, I could only find pictures of what happens after the operation and some drugs and tools that were used for properisation. The pictures were partially disgusting. People lying in beds with crazy metal wirings around their head, snaking in and out of skin and veins. And a fat drug dripper standing beside the patient. I was stuck in deep fear when I saw the pictures. Don’t think about it, don’t think about… Lewis… I close the book, after skimming through chunks of information on theories of how the operation is done. Apparently, that’s information only the government gets to keep. But it’s one I desperately want to know. I put my empty mug down on the table and scoop my bag up. Since my parents had already left for work including Louise, I head out of the door and walk to the train station. Lewis studied in Sheldon University and worked part time in a drug store as a pharmacist. Lewis was my best friend when we were younger before his properisation. But he wasn’t just another normal friend, he was a special kind of friend. A friend I miss. Lewis before his operation was actually dyslexic and autistic. If I were to describe him plainly, then I would say that he acted as if he was five years old. When Dad took anything from video game to ice cream, Lewis would start to make this face of desperation and start wailing and pleading Dad. “Lewis, you can’t eat so many chips, it’s unhealthy. I won’t buy you anymore if you keep eating like that. How many packets have you eaten? Lewis this is too much, from now on you can only eat one packet everyday” My dad would say. What he said was fair but it wasn’t for Lewis. Lewis would panic and he would make a terribly shocked and sad face as if he was told he was going to die and say, “No… Noooo.. Noooo! P-p-please Dad, I like it, I like it, you can’t do this to me!” And he would start hitting his head with his fists in frustration. Dad couldn’t stand seeing his son like this, but he held firm with his decisions. I was usually the one who spoilt him by secretly giving him candies and chocolate afterwards. I loved my older brother, no matter how childish he acted. And sometimes his dyslexia would show. He couldn’t read a clock and he had trouble doing his basic multiplications. I don’t think Rosetta knew this because when we were kids she probably thought Lewis was pretending to be so young and playful. In truth, he really was like that, full of energy. We used to be so free those days, time passed by like it didn’t even exist. Then, his birthday came. It was time for his properization. When sneaking in with Rosetta one day into his room, I saw him lying there with the hundreds of wires protruded from my brother’s head and he moaned and moaned as if he was in excruciating pain. I didn’t know what to do so I just stood there, staring. Later that night I cried and sobbed into my pillow. I cried mostly for myself because now he was an adult and a real Older brother. I also cried over the fact that I would go through the same thing, that on my birthday, I would receive the most terrible gift of all; becoming an adult. Being an adult meant leaving Rosetta and leaving fun and freedom behind. I knew that one day I would be able to see her again. But we will be acquaintances instead of friends. We would go drink sometimes with other workers and then that’s it. No playground, no fooling around and no loose attachments. When Lewis was an adult, he seemed wiser and more discrete at times. I hated it. Ever since then, things have become obviously awkward between us. And slowly and slowly, we talked less and the more we forget about the times we were close. The times when I laughed so hard when he did silly things and he would say, “What? What’s so funny?” Now, he can only glance at me and say, “I’m off to work.” Sometimes I still cry, sometimes I still get angry at myself and the world. But most times, I’m just really afraid. When I arrive at school. It was normal as always, the school bustled with kids that ignored or never greeted me. The walls are compact, yellow and almost brooding because of the stained lockers we have. In geography class I sit there on my desk, resting my head on my palms. The teacher explains the cycle of water through evaporation, condensation and of course, I find it hard to keep interest and not be bored. Her voice was monotonic and even. “We now come back to the collection of water droplets on leaves that would later evaporate as water vapor...” She continued. There is no one I know in this class. There are a few people that I could talk to but otherwise, I’m alone. I look at the clock and it ticks ever so slowly. I think back to my upcoming birthday and the fear kicks in again. I want to just go away and never face the world again. I want to hide until everyone’s old and dies. But, of course I have to grow up, the adults say it’s the best thing for me so it must be. My birthday is tomorrow. If I’m going to do properization at least I have to know what exactly the doctors will do to me. I have to learn their secrets so I can be sure it’s safe. I knew what I had to do. I have to talk to the doctors at the big hospital. Rosetta’s birthday isn’t too far off either, I should bring her with me. After school ends, I told her to meet me at the usual spot and now I’m waiting for her. I’m scared at what we’ll find but also determined anyway. My watch ticks. The minutes go by. And I wait standing behind the store.