It was a Tuesday afternoon and Rebecca was sitting on the floor of her shed picking the grime out of her tonenails and feeding any crunchy bits she harvested to the mice that live in there. But it wasn’t just any Tuesday afternoon: oh no. For on this sunny Tuesday afternoon Rebecca had been assigned an art project at school – and art was by far the BEST kind of project there was. Becky often liked to sit in her shed when she wanted to go away and think really hard. But this wasn’t based on clearing her mind so much as it was a rule given by her mother, who knew that when Rebecca thought REALLY hard she would become constipated and suffer with piles, which meant she was BANNED from the cream carpeted floors in the house. Rebecca reached into her secret pocket (which was not part of any item of clothing) because this also helped her think sometimes. She wasn’t sure why it helped, but it did, and she often found that if she did it several times repeatedly she could forget about all her troubles that were bothering her – like her unloving mother or the nasty kids at school that bully her because they do not understand her complex nature. As she reached up she had an epiphany and felt a tingling sensation go through her entire body. She knew exactly what to do for her art project. She couldn’t wait to get started and that very next evening she went out to collect the parts she needed for her project. She dared not tell anyone about her expedition, however – partly because that would spoil the surprise and partly because she didn’t really have any friends apart from the mice in her shed and they couldn’t speak English (only Swedish, as the tool box that they inhabited was bought from Ikea). A mere two weeks later and she had completed her project just in time for the show and tell at school. Several children had painted fruit bowls, others had made sculptures and some had even sewn tapestries. Bah! she thought. Becky knew that none of these amateurish attempts could compare to her work of art. She saw the teachers start to approach her to see what wonderful masterpiece she had created and she bubbled with excitement, forehead sweaty and knickers soaked right through, wet in more ways than one. As the teacher uncovered her project his face turned pale and he stumbled backwards, gasping and trying to cover his eyes, nose and mouth at the same time. Becky stood grinning next to her project. ‘He must really like it!’ she thought. “Aah! Wh-wh-what…H-h-how…” another professor said in great shock and bemusement. Becky’s project was…unconventional to say the least. She had tried so hard to push the boundaries. The teachers just stared at the pile of rotting, mangled children’s corpses in the wheelbarrow by Rebecca’s side. Some bodies were clearly more freshly harvested than others which were crawling with insects, flies and worse to that effect. The stench was repulsive, never mind the blood stains on the classroom floor or the sight of decapitated infants. “It’s modern art.” Rebecca said, beaming. “It signifies how we are all brothers and sisters in this world and how we all deserve love. So, to convey this I gave all of these lovely children love. I gave them love even though they didn’t ask for it.” Rebecca looked at her feet, the smile on her face was fading. “But they didn’t want my love”, she added as tears started to pour down her face. “THEY DIDN’T WANT IT. DIDN’T WANT IT!” she screamed. “AAAAAaaah!” Rebecca then kicked over the wheelbarrow and -still screaming- pounced on one of the female teachers, reached up her skirt and began searching for her secret pocket. Rebecca didn’t return to this school again. She was filed as dangerous and of bad mental state and saw a therapist to help her talk about her problems. But she didn’t like to talk. So in therapy she just sat on the comfy sofa, one hand up her nostril searching for goodies, and the other hand tucked safely in her secret pocket – and she was happy again.

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