Rameses
Stephen Bond
anxiety AvPD college complicity contemplative cover art first person IF Competition 2000 IFComp Game linear male protagonist parser puzzleless sad school setting sexual content slice of life strong characterization strong NPCs strong profanity teenage protagonist Xyzzy Awards 2000 XYZZY Best Individual PC
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I am standing on the platform of a railway station - it's miserable, it's damp, and all the seats are taken by stuck-up grannies and biddies and ghastly yacht-clubbers. While waiting for the train, which is taking ages, I peer over to the opposite platform, and notice a familiar figure. I can't believe it! It's Daniel! After all these years! But he hasn't noticed me yet. Barely able to conceal the joy in my voice, I step over to the edge of the platform and shout "Daniel Maguire! What the FUCK are you doing here?" And he notices me and shouts "Alex Moran, would you ever shut the FUCK up, you cross-eyed WANKER!" And I reply "Go FUCK yourself, ASSHOLE!" and he replies "Suck me off, you BENT BASTARD!". And the two of us run up and down the platforms, joyously shouting abuse at each other across three lines of track. And all the stuck-up grannies and biddies and ghastly yacht-clubbers waiting at the station stare at us as if we are mad. But we carry on, running up and down, screaming profanities, and let the rest of the world GO FUCK ITSELF!



Dormitory Room (on my bunkbed)
I wake up.

With horror I realise that I'll have to spend another day in St. Enda's college. A familiar fact I have to face each morning - but four years here have not made it any easier to face. St. Enda's - how I have come to despise this place. A decrepit old red-brick shagpile which has become the focal point of this filthy little town in the arse-end of nowhere. The cheapest boarding school in the country, probably, but also surely the most pompous and inflated. A haven for the worst kind of social climbers, parvenus, thick, ignorant farmers' sons...

With horror I also realise that I am an asshole. Another familiar fact, and the last seventeen years have given me little reason to doubt it. I could happily pick apart my faults all day - I'm too short, too shy, indecisive, and uncharismatic. And I've got terrible posture.

The dormitory is a small, frequently claustrophobic room that somehow fits four bunkbeds, which are stacked up on opposite walls. There is a sink in one corner and an old wardrobe in another. The doorway leads east. A solitary window allows a cold light into the room.

On Wayne's bunkbed is Wayne.

On Paddy's bunkbed is Paddy.
You examine Wayne
Wayne long ago abandoned any personality of his own to become a miserable lapdog of Gordon, a sort of feeble court jester, constantly making up jokes and thinking of new ways to entertain his master. Gordon rewards this behaviour by ignoring Wayne anytime his rugby pals are around. Wayne seems to accept this treatment, as if it were part of the natural order of things, hoping that one day Gordon will accept him into his clique on an equal footing.

Wayne is an asshole, in other words.
About you
I am Rameses Alexander Moran. With a name like this, you probably think my parents have a sense of humour, but they don't. I'm too short, too shy, indecisive, and uncharismatic. And I've got terrible posture.
You look at Paddy
Paddy is fat, and has the timidity and docility of a young deer. A very fat young deer, admittedly.

He's also an asshole. Well, maybe that's a bit harsh - it's just that I call everyone else an asshole, and if I didn't call Paddy an asshole, you might think I liked him or something. Which I don't. You see, Paddy is a terrible bore. He never says anything that hasn't been said about ten times already by other people. His friends are all timid, boring, fat people like him, and when they get together they talk in timid, quiet, frightened voices about really boring things. Paddy and his friends are harmless, really. They're just not the kind of people I want to hang around with.

At the moment, Paddy is asleep, snoring quietly.
You look
Dormitory Room (on my bunkbed)
The dormitory is a small, frequently claustrophobic room that somehow fits four bunkbeds, which are stacked up on opposite walls. There is a sink in one corner and an old wardrobe in another. The doorway leads east. A solitary window allows a cold light into the room.

On Wayne's bunkbed is Wayne.

On Paddy's bunkbed is Paddy.

Gordon struts into the room, fresh and dripping from the shower. He is wearing nothing apart from a towel which is wrapped loosely around his waist. Very loosely around his waist. As he walks in, the towel falls off. He tries to make out it was an accident, but it obviously wasn't. He just did it so we could all admire the enormous size of his cock.

It happens too often for it to have been an accident.
You look at the cock
(my dick)
It's still there.

Gordon walks over to the sink. He pretends to root in his medicine bag for something, but I can see he's really admiring himself in the mirror. God, that bastard spends so much time looking at his own reflection, admiring his face, and his chest, and his muscles, and his dick.
You look at Gordon
Gordon is an asshole. He is without doubt the most vain, pompous, self-obsessed asshole I have ever met. God, that guy is in love with himself. He absolutely adores every inch of his own body. He has to surround himself continually with an entourage of fawning admirers.

And this year, he became a member of the St. Enda's under-18 rugby team. So, if there was ever any doubt about it, he is now officially an asshole.

Gordon turns around and faces the room.
"Come on now lads, wake yourselves up, come on now," he says in a thick country accent. He doesn't usually have a thick country accent. He's just making fun of Declan the Seminarian. You'll meet Declan later.

Gordon is greeted by groaning, some of it from me.
You examine the sink
The sink is where we spit all our slooshed-out toothpaste each morning. It's covered in limescale, and the plumbing underneath is exposed. Both hot and cold taps produce a weak, tepid stream of water, but at least they don't drip all night. Above the sink is a mirror.

"Ah, I see Mr Alex Moran is already awake," says Gordon in his normal voice, which is deep and terribly pompous. "And what about Mr Wayne Treacy?"
You look at the mirror
I can't see myself in the mirror from my bed. I can, however, see a most uninteresting part of the side wall.

"And what about Mr Wayne Treacy?" says Gordon again, raising his voice.

Wayne stirs in his bed. "Fuck off, Gordon," he says, affectionately.
You get up
But I don't want to get out of bed. It's a cold day outside, and it's nice and warm here.

"And finally to Mr Patrick Mulroney." Gordon really treats everyone else like a moron. "Is he awake? No, still sleeping like a log."

"Sleeping like a pig, more like," says Wayne. "And he was snoring like a pig, too, fucking keeping me awake all night. Hey, Podge," he shouts, hitting the bunk above him, "wake up, ya fat bastard."

Paddy awakes with a startled whimper, and then begins stupidly blinking his large, bovine eyes.
Sleep
Tempting as it is, I really shouldn't go back to sleep. I might stay in bed for a while though.

"You know, Podge, you really need to lose a bit of weight. I'm speaking as a friend here, honestly," Wayne says with mock seriousness. "I'm also speaking out of concern for my own safety. If you get any fatter, the bunk won't be able to support your weight, and you'll fall down on top of me. And I wouldn't like that to happen. And then you'd have nowhere to sleep either, would ya?"

"He'd have to sleep next to you then, Wayne," says Gordon. He is smoothing shaving cream all over his face. He tends to spend way too long doing this, caressing his sleek jawline again and again.
You look at the bunks
There are four bunkbeds in the room, two against each wall. My bunk is under Gordon's on one side, and Wayne's bunk is under Paddy's on the other.

"Fuck off. I'm not a fucking queer. And I don't sleep with farmyard animals like Podge here either."

Wayne is making a reference to the fact that Paddy's parents are farmers. Gordon's father, as my father made me find out, is a doctor. I never found out what Wayne's parents did.
You ask Gordon about Gordon
In this story, to talk to somebody, use 'talk to'.

Declan walks into the room. He is the seminarian who is supposed to look after us. "Come on lads, wake yourselves up, come on now," he says in a thick country accent.

"You're too late, as usual," says Gordon, "We're already awake." He is still bollock-naked. His dong is swinging like a pendulum.

"I see," says Declan.
You examine Declan
As well as being a boarding school, St. Enda's is a training college for priests. Years ago, there were loads of seminarians in the college. Now there are only two. The seminarians are supposed to look after the boarders, which in reality amounts to waking us up in the morning and putting out the lights at night.

Declan the Seminarian is an asshole. He tries to be too friendly with the boarders, and is unaware of how stupid we all think he is. "I'm on your side," he says to us, "if you want anything sorted out, I'm your man." He often goes round the back of the school to be with all the smokers, and tries to talk with them about girls, sport, pop music - subjects with which he is hopelessly out of touch. Everyone treats him like shit.

"I had to do your job for you again. You're pretty useless around here, aren't you Declan."

"I suppose I am," says Declan with a vapid smile.
You talk to Gordon
Please select one:

(1) "Gordon, why don't you do us all a favour and shut the fuck up?" (2) "For fuck's sake Gordon I'm trying to get some sleep here!"
(3) "Hello everybody, look at me, I'm Gordon, I'm a big ponce!"
(4) "Ooooh, displaying your wares to Declan now are we? I bet he's impressed!"
(5) "Wow, Gordon, you're so cool."
5
He probably wouldn't realise I was being sarcastic if I said that. He has very little sense of irony.

"I was already awake, because fat-boy was snoring his arse off all night," says Wayne.

"Oh, that's terrible!" Declan doesn't even try to defend Paddy - he's too anxious to be friends with everyone for that. "So how are you this morning, Gordon? Still smoking away on the fags?" he says, remembering that Gordon smokes.

"Still smoking away," says Gordon.
You talk to Declan
Please select one:

(1) "You're going to let Wayne away with that? You pathetic asshole." (2) "You're licking up to Gordon too? Oh give me a break."
(3) "Fuck off, Declan."
(4) "Declan, how are the first years coming along? Still 'malleable' at that age, eh?"
1
Isn't that disgraceful! How can he have any respect for himself after letting Wayne get away with that? How can he expect us to have any respect for him? He's just a morally spineless shit.

I'm actually too livid to say anything.

"And what are you smoking now?"

"Pure Columbian marijuana." Gordon is such a smug bastard. "No, only joking. Actually, I've decided to give them up."
You talk to Gordon
Please select one:

(1) "Gordon, why don't you do us all a favour and shut the fuck up?" (2) "For fuck's sake Gordon I'm trying to get some sleep here!"
(3) "Hello everybody, look at me, I'm Gordon, I'm a big ponce!"
(4) "Ooooh, displaying your wares to Declan now are we? I bet he's impressed!"
(5) "Wow, Gordon, you're so cool."
(6) "Oh hahaha Gordon, excuse my while I shit myself laughing."
6
Can you really imagine me saying that? And the look on everyone's face after I said it? No.

"Oh, is that right? Well, if you've any old packets that you don't want any more, you know who to give them to, ha ha..."

"Well, if you'd be willing to pay me..."

Declan then goes into an exaggerated display of nervous laughter at Gordon's feeble joke. When he is finished, he just stands there, looking around the room with an idiotic grin.
Xyzzy
A hollow voice rings out - no wait, that's probably Gordon.

There is an awkward silence for a few moments. The only sound is the scraping of Gordon's razor.
You talk to Declan
Please select one:

(1) "You're licking up to Gordon too? Oh give me a break."
(2) "Fuck off, Declan."
(3) "Declan, how are the first years coming along? Still 'malleable' at that age, eh?"
2
I'd love to say that, but I'd probably get expelled.

"Well.... I better be off, then," says Declan.

"See ya..." says Gordon. "What a tosser," he says after Declan has gone.
You look at the wardrobe
The wardrobe is old and dishevelled, and looks like it only stays together because it's leaning against the wall. It's where everybody keeps their clothes, medicines, toothbrushes, aftershave etc. I'm a bit touchy about keeping all my stuff with everyone else's, but there really isn't anywhere else to put things.

Wayne gets up. He is evidently bored with teasing Paddy, so he turns to Gordon.

"All set for tonight then, Gordo?" he asks. Gordo. That really pisses me off.

"Yup," says Gordon.

'Tonight' - why does that word suddenly make me feel uneasy?
You talk to Wayne
Please select one:

(1) "What's happening tonight then?"
1
Before I can ask it, Wayne answers the question:

"We're off down the Junction with the lads to pick up a few slappers," says Wayne. Presumably he's talking to me. "Then, it's back to Baz's place for the night. He's got three crates in, and we are going to get pissed out of our skulls."
You talk to Wayne
Please select one:

(1) "Are you talking to me?"
(2) "And why should I care about any of this?"
(3) "Where's the Junction?"
3
I always hear Wayne and Gordon and assorted other losers talking about the Junction and I've always wanted to know where it is. I've come to associate its name with drinking.. loud music... horrible girls... all that sordid side of adolescence. Anyway, what about tonight? What am I trying to remember?

"Three crates?" says Gordon. "I must admit I'm tempted..."

"You mean you're not coming?" cries Wayne in distress.
You talk to Wayne
Please select one:

(1) "Aw Wayne, you poor thing. Your hero deserting you, is he?"
(2) "Well that's what happens when you count on Gordon."
2
Yeah - poor Wayne. But tonight... what's happening tonight?

"No, I'm afraid not," says Gordon. "I have got to meet a girl tonight. "

"Well... can't you bring her as well?"

Tonight... I'm sure there's something I'm supposed to remember.. about tonight...
You talk to Wayne
Please select one:

(1) "Aw Wayne, you poor thing. Your hero deserting you, is he?"
1
Haha! I'm delighted for the wanker. But tonight...

"No. The sort of women I associate with are far too sophisticated for that sort of thing."

"Why, what is she - a fucking princess?" Wayne is so upset that he risks insulting his idol.

"No. She's Peter Bates's sister." One of Gordon's rugby pals. "She's rich, she's gorgeous, and she's got a pair of tits that could knock out your eyeballs at fifty paces. And tonight, she's all mine."
Shout
What do you want to shout?
You talk to Paddy
Please select one:

(1) "Are you okay now, Paddy?"
(2) "Stopped crying there, fat-boy?"
(3) "Hey Paddy, why don't we leave these two love-birds here and go take a shower, eh?"
3
I'm not saying that. That would be just plain weird.

"Where are you going with her?" asks Wayne. He seems to have calmed down a bit by now.

"First, we're going to the Vegas Club. She's eighteen so she can get me in. Then, well, she's got a free house tonight, so, you never know, we could be going back there for a bit of... ahem..."

Then fuck! It all comes back to me. Tonight. Ferdia. The 'girls'. Ferdia. Fucking Ferdia. Why did I agree to all this? Why did I agree to going out tonight?
You examine the window
The large sash window looks out at a rusty drainpipe on the back of some other building in the college. Over the years I have built up an intense hatred of this grimy, ugly drainpipe. Why do I have to look at this thing every day? Why can't I look out at some sun-drenched green fields, or a mountain range, or the sea? Why this pointless fucking drainpipe?

"Will you listen to the stud of St. Enda's?" says Wayne.

"Well, it just comes so naturally to me, you know...?" swaggers Gordon.

I'll be going out tonight! Out on the town! Drinking, dancing... Girls... God knows what. Fucking hell. Fuck! I don't think I can face it, but I can't turn back, either. FUCK!!!
You look at the bed
Which do you mean, my bunkbed, Gordon's bunkbed, Wayne's bunkbed or Paddy's bunkbed?
Your bunkbed
My bunkbed is the one place in St. Enda's that I like. Sure, it's not the last word in luxury - a basic steel frame, a noisy-springed mattress - and also it has the misfortune of being under Gordon's bed - but at least it's warm and kept fairly clean. And it's fair to say that all the good times I've had in St. Enda's have been in this bed - dreaming my romantic dreams about love, adventure, having friends...

"Just think about it," says Wayne, "I'll be getting pissed tonight, Gordon'll be getting laid, and the two lads will be in here, studying away, having a really quiet time..."

FUCK!! FUCK!! FUCK!!
You talk to Wayne
Please select one:

(1) "I'm going out tonight as well!"
1
"I'm going out tonight as well!"

I said that! That just blurted out of me!

"Really?" says Wayne. "Who's the lucky fella?"

"It's a girl actually, Wayne. We're not all like you." Pretty bog-standard banter, I know.

"What's her name?" asks Gordon. "I might know her." He's putting his clothes on now, thank God.

"There can't be a girl in the town that our Gordo doesn't know - by now anyway!" chimes Wayne. Ugh.

"I don't know her name yet. Ferdia knows her." Ferdia is my 'best friend'. You'll meet him soon. "Ferdia is coming as well, with another girl he knows." This is all true, but I don't think I'm sounding very convincing.

"Are you sure Ferdia is telling the truth about these girls?" says Wayne. "I think it's all part of his secret plan to get you on your own and have his way with you..."

"Where are you going with them?" says Gordon, ignoring him.

"I don't know that yet either. I'm meeting Ferdia in the dining hall this morning..."

"I dunno, it all sounds very dodgy to me," says Wayne. "But you never know. Hah - would ya believe it? Alex is going out with a girl. What next? Pigs might fly. Fat-boy might fly! Come on, Podge, flap your wings! Flap your flabby wings, fat-boy!"

. . .
You look at the breakfast
St. Enda's has little to offer in the way of breakfasts. We have a choice of either soggy cornflakes, soggy muesli or soggy toast. I chose the soggy toast. I also have some orange juice.
Taste juice
I take a sip. It's not nice.
You examine the toast
Two limp slices of underdone toast, smeared in some oily slop that passes for butter. They don't offer us real butter at St. Enda's - only some crappy butter-substitute that disintegrates into its constituent ingredients (one of which appears to be crude petroleum) as soon as you spread it.
Smell
I smell nothing unexpected.

Where is Ferdia?
You eat the toast
I nibble at the toast a bit. I'm not a great breakfast-eater at the best of times, but this morning especially I don't feel like eating. I'm too nervous about tonight.
You think
I'm thinking!
Drink
What do you want to drink?
Drink juice
I take a sip. It's not nice.

Ferdia comes into the dining hall and rushes over to my table. He begins to speak before he sits down. He always speaks at a million miles an hour.

"Alex! Alex! I've got tonight's meeting arrangements all sorted out. I was on the phone to Alice - Alice, that's one of the girls who's coming - and I told her about it. Anyway, I suggested that we meet in PJ's cafe at half five. Do you know where PJ's is?"

Of course I know where PJ's is. He always assumes I know nothing about town. Ferdia isn't a boarder by the way. That's why he couldn't tell me all this last night.
You examine Ferdia
Ferdia McMahone is my 'best friend'. I put that in inverted commas, because he's really an asshole. I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him.

Sometimes I am surprised by the ferocity of my hatred for Ferdia. At times I am liable to blame him for all my troubles, for anything and everything that is going wrong in my life. What is it about Ferdia that provokes such a reaction in me? I often think about this, for on the surface he can appear to be quite friendly. But underneath this friendliness is something more sinister. Ferdia is constantly seeking attention - demanding attention. With every word, every gesture, Ferdia screams "Look at me! Look at how great I am! Look at me!"

And whenever we speak, it's as if Ferdia is demanding that I acknowledge all his perfections and concede his superiority in all things. So most of the time he feels less like a friend and more like a leech, drawing all of my attention, sucking away at my self esteem.

But I'm starting to rant - so let's just listen to him:

"Okay then," he continues, "Well, we're meeting at half five. Alice is coming along, and she's bringing her friend, who's called Claire. Alice is tall and has blonde hair; I think Claire has brown hair." Ferdia is the kind of guy that uses semicolons in his speech. "Don't get them mixed up."
You talk to Ferdia
Please select one:

(1) "Don't worry, I won't."
(2) "Er... which one is the blonde again?"
(3) "How did you meet all these girls anyway?"
3
"How did you meet all these girls, anyway?"

"Oh, Alice is just a friend. I have more friends than just you, you know."

"Anyway, I have something important to tell you," Ferdia goes on. "I could be late for our meeting. I may not even get there til six."
You talk to Ferdia
Please select one:

(1) "What? But didn't you arrange the time yourself?"
(2) "Oh for fuck's sake Ferdia..."
1
"What? But didn't you arrange the time yourself?"

"But I forgot about my science project," says Ferdia.

"You see, I absolutely have to get some work done on my science project after school. I'm way behind schedule at the moment. It's really getting seriously out of hand. I have so much work to do at the moment that I don't know where to begin. Do you realise how little time I have left to finish it?"
You talk to Ferdia
Please select one:

(1) "You've got five fucking weeks left to finish it!"
(2) "No, please tell me loads more about your project."
1
"You've got five fucking weeks left to finish it!"

He does too. Ferdia is talking about his entry in a local project competition. He has somehow come under the impression that I'm tremendously interested in it, and tells me about it all the time. It's titled "The effects of interactive video entertainment on human concentration and response." As far as I can see, it just involves playing computer games for hours.

"But five weeks is a such a short time for a project of this scale!" says Ferdia.

"If I don't get something done this weekend I may have to give it up, and that would be a pity. It would be a tragedy, after all the work I've put into it. And I still have so many reports to write, and so much research left to do..."
You talk to Ferdia
Please select one:

(1) "But why didn't you think about that when you set the time yesterday?"
(2) "Yeah... fucking catastrophic."
(3) "Oh... that sounds like a lot of work alright.."
1
"But why didn't you think about that when you set the time yesterday?"

"I'm under so much pressure now! Sometimes I don't know how I find any time for myself at all. As well as my project, I've got my normal homework to do, and then there's all the work I do in the community centre at weekends. It's not easy, you know! I'd like to see you trying to cope with my workload!"
You talk to Ferdia
Please select one:

(1) "How do you do it, Ferdia?"
(2) "I'm sorry, I know you're very busy..."
(3) "Hey, stop whinging! You're not the only one with work to do around here!"
2
"I'm sorry, I know you're very busy..."

This kind of bullshit is typical of Ferdia. With him, every minor inconvenience is blown into a crisis of collosal proportions. Ferdia sees himself there, in the thick of things, making heroic decisions under enormous pressure.

"Well as long as you know."

"Anyway," says Ferdia, "I might get there at half five. I'll try to finish up with the project at five. I'm not saying I will, but I'll try. Then, let's see, it might take me ten minutes to get home, get changed..."
You talk to Ferdia
Please select one:

(1) "Oh, you can spare us the details..."
(2) "So what are we doing when we meet up, anyway?"
2
"So what are we doing when we meet up, anyway?"

"Oh, you'll see, I have it all planned..." says Ferdia with a kind of grin. Then he changes the subject.

"Did you do your English last night?" says Ferdia. "Oh, I have to tell you about my new theory on A Clockwork Orange. My theory is that Anthony Burgess is telling us about the importance of free will."

No shit, Ferdia. Doesn't he stop to preach about it in every fucking chapter?
You talk to Ferdia
Please select one:

(1) "Amazing insight there, Ferdia..."
(2) "Well, I said something a bit different in my essay - "
2
"Well, I said something a bit different in my essay - "

"I haven't finished explaining my theory yet," says Ferdia.

Asshole.

"Even though the droogs did lots of bad things, what's important is that they had the choice to rape, the choice to be thugs, the choice to kill. And every human being needs this choice - it's what makes us human. If you take away this choice from people, you take away their soul. It's like trying to impose some kind of mechanical order on a living organism. That's what the title is about: it's like making an orange run on clockwork."

Oh Jesus.
You talk to Ferdia
Please select one:

(1) "Amazing insight there, Ferdia..."
0
I decide not to say anything.

"You see, Alex, free will is central to us. It's the very thing that makes us human. And because we are human, we will do everything to preserve our free will. We act with our free will at all times, and we do anything we want. I could run naked around the room now, if I wanted."
You talk to Ferdia
Please select one:

(1) "Well why don't you?"
(2) "Oh, please don't."
(3) "Do you want to hear what's in my essay?"
3
"Do you want to hear what's in my essay?"

Ferdia just ignores this.

"Anyway, I've put all that in my English essay. I can't wait to see what Mrs. Pearse thinks."

The school bell rings, calling us to assembly. If it had not rung at that precise moment, I would probably have jumped across the table and strangled Ferdia. But instead, I get up and throw my toast in the food bin. Ferdia waits patiently for me, and we walk to assembly in silence.

. . .
You hit Ferdia
I had a friend once. A real friend, not a parasite like Ferdia. Someone with whom I could be myself, someone with whom I could relax, someone with whom I could share my hopes and dreams.

His name was Daniel Maguire. I first met him when I was ten years old, before I went to St. Enda's, when I was going to the local primary school out in the country. He was the new boy in class, and for no apparent reason he was very nice to me. We became friendly, and pretty soon we became inseparable. Whenever we were together, it was so special! I remember the summers we had...

I can honestly say that the only times I felt free, the only times I felt liberated from all my inhibitions, were the times I spent with Daniel. We didn't have any secrets from each other. I didn't have to feign interest in anything just to please him, I didn't feel the need to impress him with long words and insincere feelings, I didn't have to be anything other than myself.

But I know my parents weren't too fond of him. They were always trying to get me to play with some ghastly yacht-club children, and I don't think they liked some of the language I picked up from Daniel, either. Somehow I began to see him less and less. Then, when I was thirteen, disaster struck. I was packed off to St. Enda's, and Daniel went to some other secondary school. And after that, I didn't get to see him at all.

. . .
Shortly after that, Daniel sent me a letter. It was a very funny letter, describing some events and people at his new school. It was like a flash of the old Daniel, the one who used to tell funny stories in a hay-barn. It cheered me up no end during the misery of St. Enda's, let me tell you. I knew I had to reply, and it had to be a really well-written and funny letter, too.

God, I tried so often to write that letter. Practically every night I would stare at a page that was blank except for the words "Dear Daniel" at the top. I just couldn't think of anything to say. "Just be yourself," I kept thinking, "And write down whatever comes into your head." But nothing came into my head.

A few weeks passed, and I still hadn't written a reply. And then I couldn't think of any excuses for my lateness. The longer it went on, the more ashamed I became about the delay, and the harder it was to write. I must have read and re-read Daniel's letter fifty times, looking for inspiration. I still have that letter. I still haven't replied.

. . .
I often dream of a reunion with Daniel. I think about how it would happen - whether it would be in our old school out in the country, or in the hay-barn where we used to go, or maybe just passing on the street.

But if I ever do meet Daniel again, I hope I'll be standing on the platform of a railway station - a miserable, damp railway station, where all the seats are taken by stuck-up grannies and biddies and ghastly yacht-clubbers. And while waiting for the train, which is taking ages, I'll peer over to the opposite platform, and notice a familiar figure. Daniel! Barely able to conceal the joy in my voice, I'll step over to the edge of the platform and shout "Daniel Maguire! What the FUCK are you doing here?" And he'll notice me and shout "Alex Moran, would you ever shut the FUCK up, you cross-eyed WANKER!" And I'll reply "Go FUCK yourself, ASSHOLE!" and he'll reply "Suck me off, you BENT BASTARD!". And the two of us will run up and down the platforms, joyously shouting abuse at each other across three lines of track. And all the stuck-up grannies and biddies and ghastly yacht-clubbers waiting at the station will stare at us as if we are mad, but we'll carry on, running up and down, screaming profanities, and let the rest of the world GO FUCK ITSELF!

. . .
Well, another crap day in school. Ferdia has been pissing me off all day. He kept on droning on and on about his science project and all his 'theories' and 'breakthroughs'. And then of course there was a fucking orgy of showing-off during English class. And now I have to come back up here and get ready for tonight. Tonight - now there's another thing that's pissing me off.

The dormitory is a small, frequently claustrophobic room that somehow fits four bunkbeds, which are stacked up on opposite walls. There is a sink in one corner and an old wardrobe in another. The doorway leads east. The early evening light comes through the window.

On Paddy's bunkbed is Paddy.
You examine Paddy
Paddy is fat, and has the timidity and docility of a young deer. A very fat young deer, admittedly.

Paddy leafs through a large folder.
You examine the folder
A large, paint-speckled folder with the words "Patrick Mulroney 6A3. Art Portfolio" written carefully on the cover.

Paddy turns a page in his folder.
You talk to Paddy
Please select one:

(1) "How's it going, Paddy?"
(2) "Have you been there all day?"
(3) "What's that you're looking at, Paddy?"
(4) "Hey Paddy... I'm sorry about what happened this morning."
3
"What's that you're looking at, Paddy?"

God, I always sound so condescending when I'm talking to him. I don't mean to, but I can't help it.

"Oh... it's just my art portfolio... for art class..." he mumbles. "You can have a look at it, if you want... it's not very good, really..." He hands me the folder.
You examine the folder
A large, paint-speckled folder with the words "Patrick Mulroney 6A3. Art Portfolio" written carefully on the cover.
You open the folder
I open the folder, revealing some drawings and paintings.
You examine drawings
I look at the first picture. It's a pencil drawing of the front facade of St. Enda's College, in all its neo-gothic horror. Now, I'm no art expert, but I have to say it's a brilliant drawing - I can't believe Paddy drew it. It's not just technically excellent - it also captures something of the foreboding, the coldness, the stuffiness, the bullshit, that we associate with St. Enda's.

Paddy's large, bovine eyes look at me anxiously as I survey the picture.
You talk to Paddy
Please select one:

(1) "Did you do these yourself, Paddy?"
(2) "That's a brilliant picture, Paddy."
(3) "Not bad. I'd do the shading a bit differently myself, but..."
2
"That's a brilliant picture, Paddy... really brilliant."

God, I wish I didn't sound so insincere. I really mean that. It really is a brilliant picture.

"Well... it's not that bad.. I suppose..." says Paddy, dipping his eyes. He's beginning to blush a bit.
You talk to Paddy
Please select one:

(1) "Did you do these yourself, Paddy?"
1
"Did you do these yourself, Paddy?"

Paddy has a brief flush of pride. "Yeah I did. They're all mine," he says.
You examine the paintings
I look at another picture. It shows an old stone farmhouse next to a field full of grazing cattle, all painted in thick, earthy colours.

Wayne strides into the room, in an irritatingly buoyant mood. "Hi Alex! Hi fat-boy!" he says. "What's that you're looking at, Alex?"
You talk to Wayne
Please select one:

(1) "It's Paddy's art Portfolio."
(2) "It's none of your fucking business."
(3) "Here - have a look at this!"
2
Yeah, Wayne is such an asshole, barging in here and demanding things. I'm not going to tell him anything.

Wayne snatches the folder from me.

"An art folder, eh? 'Patrick Mulroney, Art Portfolio'. Oh excuse me. So what kind of stuff do you draw, Podge?"
You talk to Wayne
Please select one:

(1) "You wouldn't be able to appreciate it."
(2) "Have a look inside."
2
"Have a look inside."

What a fucking idiotic thing to say.

Wayne looks the the picture of St. Enda's College. "Aw, isn't that lovely, Podge. But what I want to know is, are there any nude women in here? Can you draw a pair of tits?"
Punch wayne
I could kill him. I dream of causing him as much pain as possible, of giving him a slow, agonising death. And Wayne is one of the few people I know who would actually be better off dead. But of course it's not going to happen.

Wayne looks through the folder. "Or are there any nice pictures of sheep, perhaps? Any nice heifers you can stick up on your wall?"
You talk to Wayne
Please select one:

(1) "Give him back the folder, Wayne."
(2) "Stop it, Wayne."
(3) "Sure there are! It's Cow International in there!"
2
But he won't stop it. There's no point in even telling that asshole.

Wayne chances on a picture that depicts a field of cattle. "Whoa, we've hit the jackpot here!" he says. "Look at the udders on that one! Know any of these cows, Podge?"
You take folder
I want to take the folder from Wayne - and I probably should - but instead I just stand there. Maybe it's better not to get involved. Anyway, why doesn't Paddy do anything?

He continues his routine. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, Podge. You've got a very nice family. Fresians, are they? So which one is your mother? Or have you eaten her, haha!"
You jump
I'm not in what you would call a jumpy mood.

"Hey - Podge goes 'Where's my mother?' and his Dad goes 'In the grill!' Haha!" Wayne is so delighted with this that he lets the picture fall from his grasp.

Paddy leaps down clumsily from his bunk and picks it up.
You talk to Paddy
I really can't think of anything to say right now.

Wayne starts taking more sheets from the folder and throwing them around the room. "Oh shit Podge - I dropped one! And another one!"

Paddy runs around picking them up.
You take all
I prefer dealing with things individually.

Wayne keeps throwing sheets around. "I keep dropping them, Podge - I'm so clumsy today!"

Paddy runs around picking up the sheets.
You kill wayne
I could kill him. I dream of causing him as much pain as possible, of giving him a slow, agonising death. And Wayne is one of the few people I know who would actually be better off dead. But of course it's not going to happen.

Suddenly, Paddy snatches the folder from Wayne, and walks out of the room.

"Oooh... looks like fat-boy has a bit of a temper," says Wayne.

. . .
You think I'm an asshole now, don't you? You think I'm worse than Wayne. Just some useless withering shit that spends his whole life standing by... well it's not that simple. It's not that simple at all.

. . .
I mean, what would you have done? I suppose you would have put Wayne in his place, or helped Paddy, or something. Well just say you were here instead of me, and you had done your heroic actions. Do you know what would happen then? You wouldn't just have Wayne treating you like shit for the rest of the year - I'm sure you could handle that - you'd also have Paddy being pathetically grateful, Paddy clinging to you all the time for protection, Paddy with his big sad-dog eyes staring up at you every time he's in trouble. You'd be stuck with him for the rest of your life, probably - but I won't ever have that. I have my freedom. Yes, that's right, I am free! No-one is dependent on me and I am dependent on no-one! And that's how it will remain!

. . .
Anyway, it's not as if I intended to hurt Paddy or anything. It's not as if I was intentionally complicit with Wayne. I know that. And it's intentions that matter, isn't it? As long as I am satisfied that my intentions are noble, I can live with myself... I mean, who else is there to judge me? Who else -

. . .
You randian twit
Gordon bumps into me. "Oh, sorry Alex, didn't see you there," he says.
You look at Gordon
Gordon is an asshole. He is without doubt the most vain, pompous, self-obsessed asshole I have ever met. God, that guy is in love with himself. He absolutely adores every inch of his own body. He has to surround himself continually with an entourage of fawning admirers.

"Hey Gordo," says Wayne, "you missed a right laugh! We sent the Podgester crying out of the room! You should have seen the face on him. He painted a picture of these cows, right, and I said, 'Is this your family portrait?', and then he starts huffing and puffing round the room after me -"

Gordon gives a noncommital laugh.
You talk to Wayne
Please select one:

(1) "Oh, leave it out, Wayne."
1
Oh why bother?

"And then he runs out of the room like a big frightened... cow." Wayne finishes a bit uneasily.

Gordon turns and faces the room. "Right - time to get ready for tonight!" he says. "Oh - and Alex is going out tonight as well!"

Did he have to remind me? Fucking hell. Actually, tonight isn't worrying me too much now anyway - it just pisses me off. It's going to be crap anyway, so why worry about it? That said, I really don't want to go.
Go east
It's too early to leave yet. I don't fancy sitting around PJ's cafe on my own for ages. And I don't want to be the first one there.

"He looks nervous," says Wayne with mock intensity. "It's his first time, of course. Way behind the rest of us. I was beginning to have my doubts about you, to be honest, Alex. I still do, really. I mean, you and Ferdia are awfully close..."
You leave
But I'm not in anything at the moment.

Gordon starts changing his clothes. As usual, he spends unnecessarily long amounts of time looking in the mirror. He slaps on a bit of aftershave. "Only the best," he says. "Here, Alex, you should try some of this. Eau de Scrimgeour. Fifty pounds a bottle. Women can't resist it."

He tosses me the bottle, and I catch it clumsily with both hands.
Oops bottle
A small bottle of piss-coloured liquid, with a scent to match.

"Well go on, put it on!" says Gordon.
You wear the aftershave
I pour some aftershave on my hands, and splash it on my face. Oh shit - think that was a bit too much! It's starting to dribble down my chin - it's soaking my shirt - shit, it's going everywhere!

Gordon looks appalled. For a moment, he loses his composure. "That stuff costs money, you know!" he says, snatching the bottle from me. "I should charge you for that!"

"Alex just thinks he'll get more women that way," says Wayne.

I think I'm going to be overcome by the fumes of aftershave. My eyes are streaming. My face is burning.
You examine the jeans
They look just like an ordinary pair of jeans, to me.

"Higher," says Gordon, shaking his head and waving his hand upwards, as if this figure was laughably small.

"Ninety pounds!" shouts Wayne.
You talk to Gordon
Please select one:

(1) "Oh for fuck's sake Gordon. I can't believe even you would stoop to this."
(2) "A HUNDRED POUNDS!"
(3) "Five bazillion pounds!"
3
Hah. I don't think Gordon would appreciate that suggestion. He's deadly serious.

"Higher," says Gordon.

"What?"

"They cost more than that," says Gordon. "Keep guessing."

"A hundred and fifty pounds!" screams Wayne.
You talk to Gordon
Please select one:

(1) "Oh for fuck's sake Gordon. I can't believe even you would stoop to this."
(2) "Two hundred pounds!"
(3) "Two hundred and fifty pounds!"
2
"Two hundred pounds!"

"Nope," says Gordon. He walks up and down the room, modelling the jeans.

"Three hundred pounds!" cries Wayne, getting more and more ecstatic.
You talk to Gordon
Please select one:

(1) "Oh for fuck's sake Gordon. I can't believe even you would stoop to this."
(2) "This is pathetic! I'm not guessing anymore."
(3) "Four hundred pounds!"
(4) "Five hundred pounds!"
2
Yeah, it is pathetic. This is unbelievable, even for Gordon.

"Five hundred pounds!", says Wayne.

"Yup, that's right," says Gordon. Wayne beams triumphantly.

Sickening.

"That's about eight hundred dollars," says Gordon. "I picked them up in New York last summer - reduced from three thousand dollars. But they're the best. Cynthia is going to fall all over me when she sees these."

He strokes his own thighs as he says this.
You take the jeans
Gordon would defend them with his life. I'd probably look a complete prat in them, anyway.

"Wayne, will you get my socks? They're in the bottom of the wardrobe," says Gordon. Wayne enthusiastically does his duty.
You talk to Gordon
Please select one:

(1) "How much did they cost?"
1
"How much did they cost?"

"Oh, about fifteen or twenty pounds, I can't remember," says Gordon. He doesn't realise I'm taking the piss out of him. He takes himself far too seriously for that. "Or maybe I should have said a hundred Swiss Francs," he says.

"I got these at the Val d'Isere last Christmas," says Gordon, putting on the socks. "They're specially designed for champion snowboarders. Have I told you I went snowboarding last Christmas?"

Yes, he has. About a million times.
You talk to Wayne
I really can't think of anything to say right now.

"You've only told us a little bit," says Wayne.

"Well, have I told you about this girl called Katja that I met on my first night at the Chateaux de Vie? She came up to me on the verandah -"

There follows a tale littered with name-dropping, lavish parties, sexual conquests and death-defying snowboarding heroics. But I don't think I can stay to listen to it all. I put on my casual clothes and leave. As I am walking out the door, I can still hear Gordon talking. He is going on about other people who were staying in the hotel.

"We didn't get on with them very well," he is saying. "We kept pretty much to ourselves. Not sure if we'll go there again next year, actually. Far too many nouveaux riches."

. . .
For days, the thought of this meeting has gripped me with terror, but now, as it becomes only a few minutes away, I face it with a sort of numbed complacency. It's as if none of it matters anymore - Ferdia, the girls, Paddy, St. Enda's - as if it's all some sort of sick dream.

I walk out of the gates of the college onto Grogan Road. My steps seem to lack any purpose - just one foot in front of the other. It's getting dark outside on this cold January evening, and the orange street-lamps are starting to flicker on.

Grogan Road is a dismal, litter-strewn street of terraced houses. Orange street-lamps shed light on passing faces, like spectres in the darkness. The gates of St. Enda's are up the road to the east. PJ's cafe is a few streets to the west, towards the quay.
You examine the houses
Horrible, dilapidated red-brick hovels, no doubt full of ancient grannies making tea on their old gas cookers. The doors are all heavily lacquered with paint, and musty lace curtains hang in the windows.
You examine the lamps
Sodium street-lamps, which bathe the place in a fuzzy orange glow.
You smell yourself
I smell of incredibly overpowering aftershave.
Inventory
I am carrying:
some casual clothes (being worn)
my underwear (being worn)
my watch (being worn)

Well I'd love to dawdle here all evening, but I've got to be in PJ's by half five, so I better move on. I go west to

Gibson's Lane is a near-forgotten tributary of the Main Street. Amid all the boarded-up houses and general misery lies a small video shop. PJ's cafe is on the Main Street, to the west. East leads back to Grogan Road and St. Enda's.
Examine watch
A cheap-looking digital watch I bought a few years ago. It wasn't cheap though. But no-one would know that unless I told them.

According to my watch, the time is 17:20.
You drop the underwear
(first taking my underwear off)
What do you think I am, the Phantom Flasher of St. Enda's?
You go west
I walk on to the main street, absent-mindedly, without any conviction, as if drawn along by a thread. It all means nothing to me - all these shops, all these people -

. . .
I don't believe it...

. . .
But it is!

. . .
It's Daniel! Walking towards me! From the other end of the street!

Daniel - my best friend! My only friend... after all these years... I haven't seen him for so long... But there he is! That's him!

He's walking towards me... it's as though there is nobody else on the street.. just me and him...

But wait - there are other people with him... he's talking to them... he hasn't noticed me yet... what should I do?

I can see Daniel here.

Who's that girl he's holding hands with? They're smiling at each other...
You examine girl
She's walking along with Daniel, holding his hand, smiling at him...

He still hasn't noticed me! He's talking to his friends... They're getting closer...
You examine Daniel
He's older now, of course, and taller... but still the same Daniel. He's walking in my direction, holding hands with some girl... and laughing with his friends... his face is a picture of happiness... he hasn't noticed me yet.

Did he glance at me then? Has he seen me? He's almost reached me now! Maybe I should say something...
You talk to Daniel
Please select one:

(1) "Daniel Maguire, what the FUCK are you doing here?"
0
But I have to say something...

"Da-" I begin; and our eyes meet for a second, and I know he has recognised me. Then he looks away, or not away but straight through me, through me as if I wasn't there, through me as if I was nothing. He keeps holding hands with the girl, he keeps talking to his friends. They walk on. They walk past me.

. . .
I stay rooted to the spot.

. . .
What reason have I got to do anything now? Why do anything ever again? Why talk to anyone, or go anywhere? Fuck tonight! Fuck this meeting! Fuck PJ's fucking cafe! Fuck Ferdia, fuck the girls, fuck St. Enda's, fuck everything. Fuck my stupid, stupid fucking life!

. . .
You were laughing at me all along, weren't you? Laughing at me for the stupid, pathetic asshole I am, going on about Daniel, Daniel all the time, dreaming my stupid dreams, and you knew how deluded I was. Well, I can see it all now. Oh, I can see it all.

. . .
I can see now how little my friendship meant to Daniel, what a small part it was in his life. I was just some dork he knew when he was ten, some guy he was friends with out of politeness, some guy he once told to fuck off in a barn. I'm probably a vague and unpleasant memory... and what need has he for all that now, with his friends, and his girlfriend.

. . .
You cut myself
I'm just a faint blip on his memory, if he can remember me at all. Or maybe he's forgotten, forgotten about the time he hung out with an asshole. Because that's what I am - an asshole. More than that - I'm the prince of assholes, the holiness of assholes, the Master Asshole, the biggest asshole of them all! Yes, that's right! And all of you assholes out there will venerate me tonight, because I'm going to this meeting, I'm going out there, AND I'LL SHOW YOU WHAT AN ASSHOLE IS!

. . .
I go into PJ's cafe, past a few self-service counters, and into the dining area.

PJ's Cafe - Dining Area
I would love to be able to tell you that PJ's cafe is a seedy dive, a filthy little place with greasy tables and horrible food. But it isn't. In fact, it's one of the larger eating-places in town, and really isn't all that bad. But it will soon be closing down for the night - there aren't many people here at this time. Actually, it's a strange place to meet, now that I think about it.

Oh shit! There are the girls! In the corner, sitting beside each other on a four-seater table! Er... what am I doing here again? Maybe I should just go now...

I walk over to their table.

I can see Alice and Claire here.
I beg your pardon?
You look at Alice
Alice is tall, thin, blonde and angular. Her posture, her body language, her facial expression, seem to suggest that the surroundings are demeaning to her. In fact, life itself is probably demeaning to her. I bet she's a complete bitch.

Alice's cold, sarcastic eyes look at me with a mixture of amusement and contempt. But mainly contempt.
You look at Claire
There isn't much to say about Claire. She's pretty nondescript and average in every way... though 'pretty' probably wasn't the best choice of word there. Her face is podgy and has a slightly stupid expression.

The girls stare up at me. "Are you Alex?" says Alice, the blonde one.

"Er... yeah," I say, grinning nervously. I can hear the blood pounding in my ears. I can just tell tonight will be a disaster.
You talk to Claire
Please select one:

(1) "So... Claire..."
1
"So... Claire..." I begin.

Oh shit, what do I say now? They're both looking at me as if I was mad!

"Well, aren't you going to sit down?" says Alice. Actually, that sounded more like an order. And Alice sounds like a person who is used to being obeyed - so I sit down hastily and clumsily.
Describe the surroundings
PJ's Cafe - Dining Area (on the chair)
The dining area of the cafe is reasonably large, and fairly empty at this time. The room is striving incongruously for a jungle theme - with mahogany-effect tables and chairs, potted plants scattered everywhere, an annoying green carpet, and prints on the walls depicting tropical scenes. The self-service counter is to the west.

I can see Alice and Claire here.

Alice takes a sip of coffee.
You talk to Claire
I really can't think of anything to say right now.

Now I'm inside, the eye-watering scent of that aftershave is really starting to get quite powerful again. Alice is already beginning to turn her nose up...

Where the fuck is Ferdia?
You talk to Alice
Please select one:

(1) "So... Alice..."
1
"So... Alice..." I begin.

Oh shit, what do I say now? They're both looking at me as if I was mad!

Alice takes another sip of coffee.
You run
You'll have to say which compass direction to go in.

Alice looks at me pointedly and starts coughing.
You ask alice about the weather
In this story, to talk to somebody, use 'talk to'.

Maybe Daniel just didn't notice me that time. If only I had said something... Maybe we'll meet him later on, and he'll come up to me, and apologise... or not apologise, what does he have to apologise for? I wonder is he thinking about me now...
Kiss claire
It would probably be better to talk to her first. Though I doubt anyone could work up much enthusiasm about her.

He's probably a bit embarrassed about ignoring me... though I understand... it would be a bit awkward meeting me in front of his friends... maybe he'll write me a letter later...
You sit
What do you want to sit on top of?
You talk to Claire
I really can't think of anything to say right now.

Alice makes a face. "What is that smell?" she says.
You
In this story, to talk to somebody, use 'talk to'.

Alice glares at me.
Go outside
I really should stay here and try and make some conversation... it would look bad running away so soon.

Come on Ferdia... Come on...
You talk to Alice
I really can't think of anything to say right now.

"Have you any idea where Ferdia is?" asks Alice.
You talk to Alice
Please select one:

(1) "He should be along in a few minutes... he said he might be a bit late."
(2) "He's working late on his science project... he said he might be a bit late."
(3) "He's off licking some teacher's arse after school. He'll be here soon, don't worry."
(4) "I haven't a fucking clue."
You talk to myself
It's one way to get intelligent conversation around here, certainly.

"Would you like to get something to drink?" asks Claire. It's the first time she has spoken. She has a really weedy voice. She looks at me with big, childlike eyes that stick out of her face.
You talk to Claire
Please select one:

(1) "No thanks... I'm not that thirsty really."
(2) "No thanks... I don't drink coffee, actually."
(3) "Yeah, okay..."
3
"Yeah, okay."

"Well, the counter is behind you," says Alice.
You stand
I can't take this anymore! I get up off the chair.

"Where are you going?" says Alice.

"Oh.. I'm just going to get something to drink."

"Well, I don't want anything, thanks for asking," says Alice. Bitch. I walk over to the self-service counter. Yes! I'm away from that table!

It's the contemptuous look on their faces I couldn't stand. Why did they have to look at me like that all the time? And now I can see them over there, giggling...
Inventory
I am carrying:
some casual clothes (being worn)
my underwear (being worn)
my watch (being worn)

Who the fuck does Daniel think he is, anyway? What the fuck is he doing, flaunting his fucking girlfriend and his all his fucking friends at me... does he think I care? Does he think that impresses me? Is he trying to say 'Look at me now! Look at all the friends I have! Why should I need someone like you anymore?' Fuck him.
You examine the counter
The counter is now bare apart from a few unwanted cans of cola, which may just be there for display purposes. The cafe will be closing up shortly... Ferdia better hurry.

Is he trying to dismiss everything that ever happened to us? Is he dismissing my whole life with a glance? And why is he being so insensitive? He was never like that before... Doesn't he realise how much he hurt me tonight?
Sing
I can't sing very well. It's my adenoids.
You get the cola
I don't want anything from the counter. I just came here to escape the girls for a while.
You wait
Time passes.

Ferdia comes in, at long fucking last. "Hi Ferdia," I say.

"Oh, hi Alex," he says as he brushes past me officiously. He heads over to the girls.

"I hope Alex has been entertaining you," I can hear him say to them. Then he laughs. He has the most annoying, offensive laugh you could possibly imagine - he sounds like a horse being castrated.

I am about to follow him over, but when I see him there laughing, and the girls laughing, all all of them together, I feel nauseated. And the cool evening air coming from the exit is so tempting... lulling me to go...

And I know then that the best thing I can do, the only thing I can do, is to leave all of them. Leave all of them forever. So I walk out the door, on to the main street.

. . .
Space
The cool evening air calls me, and I follow it. I follow it through the main street, past sleepy houses; I follow it to the quayside, where the sea breeze is strongest. It's raining now, but the rain is soft and comforting, caressing me as it falls. I feel as if I love everything in the world, as if everything is singing to me, as if my mind is filled with poetry and music. Everything, everything is beautiful now.

I step up to the water's edge.

Everything here is so peaceful, so beautiful - why have I never noticed it before? Raindrops dance on the river bay beneath my feet. Seagulls play in the air above me. Old fishing boats sway gently with the lapping of the water. And the air - I always thought the salt air was foul before, but now it seems so fresh, so clean, so pure!
You jump
I look down at the water beneath me, and then -

Hey! You're asking me to kill myself? What the hell made you think I wanted to do that? I'm young, I've still got lots to live for... it's just that I just feel so restricted at the moment... and then of course there is the Daniel thing. But don't think that means I want to end it all! It can't always be like this! I know it can't. In fact, for all you know, something could happen tonight, this very night, something to make me love life again... And if that something happens, I'll seize it with both hands!

Where the hell am I, anyway?

The quay must be the most miserable place in the whole town, especially when the rain is pissing down like it is now. Beneath my feet, the rain-pelted river flows like sludge, which probably has something to do with all the raw effluent that's pumped into it. The smell, needless to say, is truly nauseating. A handful of rusty old boats lie abandoned against the quay wall, and seagulls scream overhead.
You examine the boats
Useless, rusty old boats, which are a complete fucking eyesore. They are obviously only left there because nobody can be bothered to scrap them.
Pray
Nothing practical results from my prayer.
You look at the rain
It's soaking everything.
You go to the east
Yeah, what's the point in staying here.

"Alex!" I hear a voice calling behind me. I turn around. It's Claire, running hesitantly up to me.
You jump
Oh come on, I've had enough suicide attempts for one day.

"Are you okay? We were a bit worried about you after you ran out of the Cafe, so we went looking for you."

Ugh. I could just imagine Ferdia directing the search operations, keeping a cool head under pressure, telling people to go here and there.

Claire steps a little closer to me and looks up into my eyes. "Is... anything the matter? You can tell me... if you like."
You talk to Claire
Please select one:

(1) "Nothing's wrong. Now go away."
(2) "No, I like standing here in the rain."
(3) "Yes. There is."
2
"No, I like standing here in the rain."

Claire sighs heavily as if about to deliver a baby whale.

"Look... I get a little... nervous too... when I'm meeting guys for the first time... if that's what you're worried about -"

"No! No, that's not it at all!" I suddenly shout. "It's nothing to do with that!" I stop for a moment, not really sure how to go on.

"It's just that... I can't... do anything! I can't do anything!" I scream at last. "It's like I'm trapped inside and can't get out and can't be myself and... I'm stuck.... And I've no friends! - Not Ferdia, he's an asshole, he doesn't count.... There's no-one I can be myself with! No friends! And the only friend I ever had... my only friend -"

I just break down in sobbing.

. . .
A few moments pass as I try to recover, sniffling away tears. Claire looks up at me, tenderly. God, I can't believe I've made such a show of myself in front of her. Why did I break down like that? And now she's seen me crying... and heard all that crap....

Claire speaks. "I'll... be your friend... if you like." Her lips are trembling.

I answer with a sniffle.

. . .
You talk to Claire
Claire moves closer to me. We're standing very close now. She gazes into my eyes, expectantly.

I believe something is now supposed to happen.
You talk to Claire
I think actions, rather than words, are required now.

Claire still gazes at me, and I gaze back at her. Her appearance seems to be changing every second - now I think she's angelic, beautiful; but now I see her cracked lips and the hairy mole on her face.
You hug her
(Claire)
I could... and it would probably be nice... and warm... but I can't help looking at that mole on her face...

Our eyes are still fixed on each other. She's breathing a bit more rapidly, I can tell. Her chest bobs up and down visibly.
You look at the mole
A hairy brown thing that's like a blot on her face. I can't help looking at it.

Suddenly, Claire reaches out to me. Our hands touch for a moment, but I recoil. I can't do this! I must run away! I turn and run, and I run, and I keep on running, and I don't look back.

. . .
It was the right thing to do! The only thing I could do. Her cracked lips and the mole on her face and that stupid expression - though fairly pretty in a way - but I couldn't have given her what she wanted! I wouldn't have put the same feeling into it, I would have hurt her. This was for the best.

. . .
You press the green
Anyway, could you imagine if I had gone out with her, and her podgy face and cracked lips, and Ferdia would be there with Alice looking smug and condescending, and Wayne and Gordon and everyone in St. Enda's knowing about it, and the hard time I'd get, and the hard time she'd get? I wouldn't be able to take that! I wouldn't!

. . .

And then she saw me crying too! She saw me weak and crying and babbling in front of her. And I'd remember that every time I met her, and she'd remind me of this miserable night every time, and she'd be so condescending in front of me. So conscious of my vulnerability. And I don't think I could bear that.

. . .

And we'd always have to be together, her hanging out of me, me hanging out of her, with the mole on her face, and everyone would be looking at us and laughing. But that's not going to happen to me! I'm going to have my freedom! And that's one thing you 'people of action' are never going to understand. I'm keeping my freedom within me, and I'll laugh at you, laugh at all of you, and laugh at you forever!

. . .

I am standing on the edge of the quay, by the river - it's cold, it's raining, and seagulls are flying overhead. Then I hear a voice behind me call my name. I turn around. It's Claire! She runs up to me. "I love you, Alex," she says. And I say nothing, but put my arms around her, and hold her close. And as we embrace, the rain beats down upon us, and the cold wind whips around us, but we go on, holding each other, arm in arm, and let the rest of the world GO FUCK ITSELF!