Write a diary, imagining that you are trying to make an old person jealous.

I took a photo of us, mid-embrace. When I am old and alone I will remember that I once held something truly beautiful.

I find that the only way to get through life is to picture myself in an entirely disconnected reality. I often imagine how people would react to my death. Mr Dunthorne's quavering voice as he makes the announcement. The shocked faces of my classmates. A playground bedecked with flowers. The empty stillness of a school corridor. Local news analysis. . . . The steady stoicism of my parents. . . . Candlelit vigils. . . . And finally, my glorious resurrection.

I would never say snog. I would say osculate." She looks at me as if to say: why do you exist?

...I want to grab her collarbones as if they were handlebars.

I find that the only way to get through life is to picture myself in an entirely disconnected reality.

My mother tells me I do not chew my food enough; she says I am making it harder for my body to get the essential nutrients it needs. If she were here, I would remind her that I am eating a blueberry Pop-Tart.