When The Right Moment Appears, The Key

As A Writer, My Only Responsibility Is To Tell A Compelling Story.

I Swear, Guys In Groups Are Capable Of The Stupidest Things." "like War," Kellan Says, Heaping Napkins And Ketchup Packets Onto Her Tray. "and Jumping Off Rooftops." "and Lighting Their Farts On Fire," She Says.

And As I Stood There In The Hallway―alone―trying To Understand What Had Just Happened And Why, I Realized The Truth: I Wasn't Worth An Explanation―not Even A Reaction. Not In Your Eyes.

Whenever I'm Out Late She Makes A Sandwich For My School Lunch. I Always Protest And Tell Her Not To, Saying I'll Make My Own When I Get Home. But She Likes It. She Says It Reminds Her Of When I Was Younger And Needed Her.

I Didn't Feel Physically Sick. But Mentally. My Mind Was Twisting In So Many Ways. (...) We Once Saw A Documentary On Migraines. One Of The Men Interviewed Used To Fall On His Knees And Bang His Head Against The Floor, Over And Over During Attacks. This Diverted The Pain From Deep Inside His Brain, Where He Couldn't Reach It, To A Pain Outside That He Had Control Over.