My Brother - Chapter 1

My name is Hannah P. Collangelo. I like people to guess what my middle name is, then frustrate and infuriate them by not telling. I don’t have any nicknames (I’ve been trying to get people to call me PC, but it’s not really working); dark brown eyes, usually frowning, and brown hair, almost exactly the same colour as my eyes, maybe a bit lighter.

I’m not very popular, but I’m not un-popular. I’m just not worth noticing. I don’t have many friends, either at home or at school. There’s only one person whom I trust, and that’s my older brother Jason. Well, he’s not really my brother. He’s kind of like an imaginary friend, except he’s an imaginary brother. My favourite imaginary brother. My only imaginary brother.

He’s like a diary. A diary I can talk to. Only problem is, when I talk to him, people think I’m crazy, since I’m talking to “myself” (also known as Jason). Sometimes I think I’m crazy too.

My parents don’t understand me. They’ve tried sending me to counsellors and psychiatrists. They’ve tried inviting people over so that we could ‘socialize’. They’ve tried everything; at least, that’s what they think. They haven’t tried talking to me. They’ve never tried asking me what the problem is. Only problem is, I have no idea what the problem is. Maybe it’s because I don’t talk. Okay, I may not talk a lot, but that doesn’t mean I’m shy. I would talk to people, if I wanted friends, which I don’t. That’s also the reason I discourage inviting others over.

“Hey kid”, says Jason. “What’s up?” he sits down on my bed. I take a seat next to him. My bed is messy and safe. I never want to leave it again. I shrug, and then walk and press my ear to the door. I turn around. “It’s mum and dad. They’re fighting again”. I plop myself down again, and dig my face into my hands. Jason puts his arm around me. Whenever my parents fight, it’s always because of me. Just about how I’m getting “lonely” and how I’m talking to myself. It’s about what they think they should do for me. It makes me feel guilty, even if I didn’t do anything.
“Don’t worry, kiddo”, says Jason. He squeezes my shoulder. “Everything’s gonna be fine”. The sentence echo’s in my head. Everything is going to be alright. Everything is going to be fine. My parents always say that. For some reason, though, when Jason says that, it actually sooths me. “You know, I reckon we should start meditation”, he suggests. “I was on the net, and there was this complete guide to yoga and meditation. It’ll be so fun”, his eyes gleam. I look at him and laugh. He’s sitting crossed legged and closing his eyes. “Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Make sure you exhale your inner emotions. Let them out”, I say in a voice very close to a whisper. Jason opens his eyes. He presses his hands together and bows. “Thank you for your teachings master”. He looks up at me and we both express our amusement with laughter.

At the dinner table, I open a chair for Jason. He sits down. Mum walks past and pushes the chair back in. Jason looks like he’s going to break. I chuckle and open the chair again. Jason gasps. He looks at me, relieved. I look at mum. “Where’s dinner?” I asked. The table’s empty. “Well, I thought since you’ve been such a good girl, we could order in. Ah, that’s where that pamphlet got to”. She grabs the small pamphlet for Penny’s Pizzas. “Honey! I’ve found the number!” She calls out to dad. I stare a Jason. He nods. He’s read my mind. Something’s going on.

Season #4

Spring;
Flowers beam at me;
Insects wink at me;
I trudge through the colourful street, careful not to tread on living things;
I see a child;
I sit down onto the bench, watching the children sadly;
Jumping on flowers, poking ants;
I wonder what they'll be when they grow up

Season #2

Autumn;
Flowers blossom in the distance;
Leaves scattered all over the valley;
Tall trees shelter, though let in enough light to see;
I watch as the children play hopscotch;
My eyes dart to a gloomy lady, dressed in a coat;
Dull, expressionless;
She's empty

Season #1

Summer;
intense sun schorching my back;
I touch the bench oww!
Metal burns;
Kids laugh on the playground, they can't even feel the sizzling monkey bars;
Parents watching, sheltering their eyes with the hands;
Sweat trickles down my cheek;
"Let's go home now, honey"

Season #3

Winter;
Cold, icy;
Wind whips my face as the dull clouds plaster the sun;
I watch people avoid the strong breeze and grip there coat tighter;
Winter, it's almost over.

Snow

Snow;
White and foamy, slipping between my fingers;
Enveloping the mountain tops, reaching the grey clouds;
Enclosed in the gloomy mist, clinging to bare trees;

Stiff, but slippery;

Beautiful but deadly.

Me

Brown, light skin, to match my black hair;
Small, yet strong head, of which I wouldn’t like to share.

Two small hands, fingers smooth and easy;
Thin, slim arms, tender and free.

A small neck, cute and rare;
Nice, slender shoulders, curved and fair.

Dark brown eyes filled with life and energy;
A small unique smile, which I hand out constantly.

I am who I am, with no-one to control me.

A short biography of Albert Einstein

Albert groaned as he recalled his timetable. Science! Ms. Schmitz had “followed” him throughout school. She had been his maths teacher in grade one, two, three four and five, and his science teacher during grade six, seven, eight, and now nine. Nine years of tolerating this, thought Albert, doing a quick subtraction sum in his mind. Since I was five, and now I’m fourteen.

He flushed as he entered the science room, discreetly. Unfortunately, Ms. Schmitz noticed him anyway. “Mr. Einstein, may I remind you that you have not handed in the six-page essay on the periodic table. I am not impressed with your progress” she said sternly. Albert bit his lip. He ignored her, and sat in the front seat, which had been decided his permanent one so that Ms. Schmitz could keep an eye on him. “There are many types”, began Ms. Schmitz, “of energy”. She picked up a piece of chalk. “Wind energy, for example is blah blah blah”, Albert’s mind drifted off. He imagined of holding Ms. Schmitz captive. He smiled. “Mr. Einstein”, she’d be saying. “If you do not give me one type of energy by the count of five, I shall give you a caning on the wrist”. Albert was dragged back to earth. “Umm…err…” he stammered. “Wind energy?” Ms Schmitz stared into his innocent face with cold, piercing eyes, and with that, she walked back hastily to the black board. Albert sighed silently with relief.

Albert bit his tongue. Oww! He was shocked. It was Hermann Einstein, Albert’s father, who opened the door. Albert had least expected his teacher to be on his doorstep. His mother was out so Ms Schmitz asked if she could talk to Hermann in private. She should have been clever enough to realize Albert would listen anyway. Albert stood by the door, listening intently. “Mr Einstein, may I suggest private tutoring for you son?” Albert bit his lip. Hermann nodded embarrassed. “I am sorry, and quite embarrassed, to say that it is obvious, that it doesn’t matter what he does, he will never amount to anything”. Albert’s eyes raised in anger. He made a vow then and there, to show Ms Schmitz that he was a smart child. And guess what? He did!

Born in 1879, died 1955, Albert Einstein won a Nobel Prize in 1921, and became famous for his equation E=mc2. Take that, Ms Schmitz!