THE THING INSIDE YOUR HEAD (#TIME GODS SERIES)

Every teenager in Mcbornie town seemed to have risen up from bed with a smile on the face, that morning. School had finally resumed, which meant back from the long exhausting holiday. It also meant that they'd be getting to hang out with some friends they hadn't seen for a while.

  For Anderson, it was like every other perfect day. He was the most intelligent boy in the whole of school; some even gossiped that he had the brain of a computer. There was no doubt he'd be joining the CIA after graduation.

  Now for his age, seventeen, Anderson was already a spectacle. Although, everyone in Mcbornie acknowledged that he was a nerd, he however had well-developed biceps, a well-cut out figure, and a perfect V-shaped face. His grandmother had always thought it ironic.

  At the moment, he was lying down on his bed, face to the ceiling, calculating the rest of the day, in advance. He always calculated everything. In fact, his best friend Harrison had concluded to himself that Anderson Simpson was the most organised person in the universe. Anderson was never caught without an activity, or bored out. He always had something to keep himself busy.

  Earlier, the bedside clock had announced day by its sleep-disruptive noise. He'd thrown his hand against it to make it stop.

  Anderson drew out his glass case from underneath his pillow and placed the glasses gently, but quickly, on his elegant nose. Then he tapped the Smart Watch fastened around his wrist; lightrays poured on his face, revealing the time: 5:30 a.m. He smiled, then robbed his hand against the mid-air.

  "A brand new day has begun," he muttered to himself.

  The classes begun by 8 a.m so he still had all the time to himself. He jerked himself off the bed, took a quick glance at his room which was almost like a half library, half bedroom. Next, he advanced towards his desktop computer which was situated at the far end of the room. Moving sluggishly in his pyjamas, he pulled his glasses to his forehead, giving his eyes a big brush with the back of his shirtsleeve. Then he yawned loudly.

  Settling down behind the system, he relaxed his back as he waited for it to boot.

  He got a mail from Harrison.

  MORNING MATE.

  He smiled at the monitor, then typed back: HOW D'YOU DO?

  An instant reply came back.

  NOT BAD AT ALL. READY FOR THE BIG DAY?

  YOU KNOW I WAS BORN READY, came Andy's response.

  Two seconds after he'd tapped the ENTER key, an incoming Video Call appeared on the monitor from Harry.

  Anderson flipped on the lamp beside the computer to avoid turning the room light on. Then he tapped the ENTER key.

  "Hey mate," came Harry's ever enthusiastic voice.

  "Xup buddy—"

  "You look as normal as yesterday," Harry said, exhibiting his full set of white teeth.

  Anderson arched an eyebrow, "And that's supposed to be a compliment, huhn?"

  Harry chuckled. Anderson smiled.

  "So, what's Master Simpson planning in that big head of his?"

  "What I always do at the beginning of every class grade."

  Harry smiled as he reminded himself that his friend had been the School Prefect, straight, for four years.

  "You realise this is the twelfth grade, which means the last year in highschool, you should really prepare a much more, should I say, 'memorable speech'."

  "Boy, you really do underestimate me, don't you?" said Anderson, a wry smile drawn across his face.

  "Okay, okay," said Harry, hands in the air as if to say, "you win." "I shouldn't have underestimated you."

  "Apology accepted."

  From the background, Anderson could hear Harry's parent quarreling on raised voices.

  "Oh, no you don't!" he heard Mrs Edgeton say.

  "Get your filthy hands off my trouser, woman!" Mr Edgeton thundered. "Or I'll teach you the lesson of your life, the one you haven't graduated from." His voice was sounding very much like a drunkard's. And that was just what he was; a drunkard.

  The fight between Michael and Amanda Edgeton had been almost as long their arrival in Mcbornie — they moved to Mcbornie when both Anderson and Harrison were seven. What baffled Andy and his father was the fact that the woman had not had the marriage annulled; Anderson had the dilemma that personal matters were always personal matters. The only thing he ever did was cheer his friend up.

  Harry's head was bowed, his elbows to the table while his hand supported his forehead. He could hear fits of blows landing on his mother, and so could Anderson. Andy felt embarrassed, not knowing whether to end the call or. . .

  Before he could move a muscle, he saw Harry getting up, anger written all over his face, with an expression Andy knew too well — Harry was going to do something really bad!

  "Harry! What are you intending to do?" Anderson asked over his shoulders.

  "I'm going to do what's right," said Harry. He paused for a second then turned around. "And you should start getting prepared for school." He closed the computer.

* * *

AMANDA Edgeton looked down at the unconscious body on the floor then back to her son, in a mixture of awe and disbelief. Her hands were cupped around her mouth, a few tears pulling away. Before Harry could mutter a word, she threw her arms around his neck and began to cry over his shoulder.

  "I promise I won't ever let this happen to you, again —"

  She gave way to more tears. She just wanted to tell him how proud she was of him, but chose to remain reserved.

  They lived in a two-bedroom flat, many streets away from the Simpsons. It was a really old flat; they'd purchased it from an elderly couple whose children had preferred they moved to live with them — away from Mcbornie.

  The flat consisted of a sitting room with an adjoined visitors' toilet, a little kitchen and two bedrooms.

  Harry led his mother to the sitting room where he made her some tea. They maintained the silence as she sipped from the mug. He looked at the clock above his head — it was already past six. He closed his eyes as he listened to the rythmic ticks and the sound of the tea being sipped from the mug in his mother's firm grip.

  Suddenly, something broke through the two sounds, and he knew perfectly well what it was. He opened his eyes, almost simultaneously, to see his drunk father staggering by the passage that linked the bedrooms to the sitting room.

  Harry watched with intense disgust as he held his face with his hand, and held the wall firmly with the other. He looked from Harry to his wife, then back again. Blood seemed to be slipping from his nose, so he brushed it with the back of his sleeve.

  "You!" said he. "You filthy son of a bitch — I disown you from this very moment — you will cease to be called my son!"

  Harry laughed, his voice was a mixture of mockery and contempt.

  "You never owned me, so why disown me now, Michael Edgeton?!—"

  "Harry! You do not speak to your father that way —" his mother cried out.

  "You heard him," said Harry, his eyes still fixed to his father's, "he said that I'm ceased from being his son. Well know this, Mister," he said, talking to his father, "that you're unworthy to be called my father."

  Michael's eyes were wide, he had been infuriated. He dashed out of the house in no time.

  "Coward!" muttered Harry. He moved to his own room, had a quick bath, picked a clean cloth which he tugged on, hurriedly, grabbed his breakfast — kissing his mother on both cheeks as she sat still on that same position he'd left her — he slunged his bag over his shoulder then dashed out.