20
Again, I wake up.
To a freezing cold blast of something in the face.
Still not dead. Unless there's an afterlife. And it involves an old man standing over you with a hosepipe.
He sprays me in the head with the water. A crinkly little guy with a face like a skeleton, he wears dark-blue work pants, a matching polo shirt and sweater. He runs his green rubber hosepipe over me, rinsing off the cement. Must be the school caretaker. I notice the same crest on his sweater as on the wall of the school.
His eyes are dark and hollow. The ice-cold water relentless. He moves on from my head and down my body. I see the cement washing off around me. Great big pools of the stuff. My own blood mixing in, like raspberry sauce making swirls in melted ice cream.
Getting my bearings back, I see four o
