Windscript Volume 24, 2007-2008 - Saskatchewan Writers' Guild

The Magazine of Saskatchewan High School Writing
Katherine Sthamann
Imagination
I think the term “I want to kill myself” is false and much overused. In my short life experience
I’ve found that human beings generally will make their best interest priority over anyone else’s,
therefore people don’t really want to kill themselves. Everyone loves themselves too damn much,
nature made it that way. No, what they want to kill is the feeling inside of them. Feeling useless
and ugly. The feeling when you look at yourself and say, “You suck.” And believe it. The feeling
inside of you, that’s what you want to kill, not yourself. That’s kind of me, that’s not entirely truthful.
They all ask, “How are your brothers?” To which I reply, “Good.” Long and strenuous silence,
asker looking for more detail, askee wanting to flee, she would rather be taking a nap. “Really
good.” End conversation. It’s in my imagination where they ask me how I am doing. And in my
imagination I reply, “Fuck.” It feels really good. A lot of things in your imagination can feel really
good. Like sometimes, in like, Bio or whatever, the teacher will be all like, “Flagella and conjugation
and Chlorophyta.” And I’ll be all like “Kkkllaschtttbvw.” When I get to the Kkkllaschtttbvw stage is
when my imagination comes in real handy. It’s right then when suddenly my breasts start to grow.
Well, actually, they’re finished growing. And you would never believe it, but to a really nice size as
well. It seems everything is growing. My hair is long, like down to my butt (my nice butt). It smells
very appealing, like raspberries. My hair that is, not my butt. And this is all happening right there in
period 2! So there I am, nice boobs, nice ass, nice hair, and it’s like where did the time go, and what
were you talking about? And why do I care? Because at that moment the feeling inside, the “You
suck” feeling, has officially been slaughtered, at least for that moment. So here I am, and as I said
before I kind of feel like Fuck right now. And I’m all like, “I want to kill myself.” And then myself
replies, “No you don’t, you want to kill the feeling inside of you, you invented that theory, stupid.”
And then I think, “Oh ya, I am stupid.” And I’m trying so hard to write a postcard story while
myself is telling me how stupid I am at the same time, and then my imagination pulls through right
when I need it the most. Because right at the moment I start to threaten to poke my own eyeballs
out if I don’t finish my homework, Luka Kovac is like, “Will you be my bride?” Luka Kovac, by
the way, is the Russian doctor from ER aka the best looking male specimen the world of medicine
has ever seen. So I’m sorry that this story has a lack of plot and deep meanings. But like, hello!
Creative writing, or running my fingers through hot Russian facial stubble? It’s called imagination,
bitches, invest in one.
windScript volume 24
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