My Co-Creating-Book Friend = SwottieLottie. = Really Good Writer.
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Alone. It was a word that was slowly beginning to feel like a straightforward definition of his life; as if it was consuming his identity, bit by bit, like a parasite on the back of an animal. And yet somehow, he didn’t notice. It wasn’t because he couldn’t understand what was happening. He just didn’t want to. He couldn’t bear to think that his life may well be meaningless and isolated from others. Nor could he bear that thought to be engraved into his mind, bubbling to the surface of his conscience at every spare moment.
For he was the sort of person that would sit silently, in a class, unnoticed throughout the whole lesson. The sort of person that was excluded from party invitations. The sort of person whose ‘friends’ remained distant. That ‘sort of person’, was Riley Fletcher: a short, thin, 13 year old boy with no redeeming features, just a messy mop of dark brown hair, that hung over his matching pair of bright brown eyes.
