It’s quarter to twelve and here I sit, on a hard wooden chair, tapping at my keyboard like a possessed man. I try to calm by myself but my fingers move ever so faster as the unreasonable voice in my head spews out random words and thoughts. Sometimes I think I am going crazy, but I am never sure about that anymore. I make weird faces to no one; I smile at my wardrobe toothily only to resume my complacent demeanour, pretending nothing happened.

I imagine myself on the bus to school doing this. How would people view me? As they see me, the boy that they have come to know for the last seven years of their lives acting oddly. Not the first, I would assume. Not the other day did I tell a friend I was a mad man. He looked at me with a blank expression and resumed the questions that teacher had assigned us.

But it is true. I told him again more assertively, but he replied with a baleful look. 

When was it? Three…two…yes, two, two hours it was when I was on the bus. I sat at the back, heavy bodies pushed either side of me. I tried to read the morning paper but my brain kept faltering as the bus jolted and the bustle of everyday life distracted me. This was a normal day just like another yet I remember sitting back, projecting thoughts in my mind.

“I know you can read my mind, and I know who you are. Look at me. Look at me,” I shout silently at no one in particular. I surveyed the bus, noting for any responses. I spot a man at the front of the bus turn his head in my direction and for a second, for what I believed, our gazes met.  

“I saw you. Look at me again so I know it’s you. If you don’t I will tell the world your secret. You can read minds, the world will scrutinize you; scientists will open your head up and the government will own you.’

I stare at the man again, my eyes unblinking. For a few moments, I stare at the back of his head. Shiny black hair moulted to his scalp; he had gelled it that morning. The bus jolted once more as it starts off, away from another bus stop. More people clamour on. The man turns his head, looking either side of the bus. He views the passing scenery out of the panoramic windows to a woman climbing the thickness of people to earn a seat nearer the back; he looks at a crying baby opposite him, hoisted adherently in its pram and then to the mother, ignorant to its pleas; quietly nodding to the tune of a song – white earphones snaking the length of her head and body.

 He looked away in what I can only say in mock disgust…he looks to the back of the bus…he catches me staring at him. He looks away uncomfortably. He looks again and averts his eyes once more…Once, twice…his eyes thin into slits then he looks away.

“I knew it was you! You can’t read my mind never again. I am going to perform barriers away from your sick mind…” 

I stop myself there.

What am I doing?

I am having a battle with myself…am I going mad? I clear my head and I return my eyes to the morning newspaper. More political crisis. I look up to see it’s my stop and rush off the bus only to glance at the man. He is looking at me; I get off and feel his unflinching eyes pressing deep into my back. I step out, allowing more commuters on. I watch him through the windows for a moment, neither of us be the first to look away. His expression is confusion whilst I keep mine neutral, hostile even. I hear the rev of an engine and the bus moves away, but still I look on. He was first to look away. I was right! He can read my -

My friend hisses at me to silence my mutterings. I look up confused to see complex equations scrawled on the whiteboard before me. Since when did the teacher write that? I shake my head in dismay. I am mad.