The notes were repeating in Stephen’s head again. It was a torment he had come to accept. In fact, he had almost been swept away with
pride, picturing himself some kind of strange prophet, communicating with aliens or angels or something. The music did make him feel a little dizzy, though. Stephen went outside to take a short walk and get a little sun. It was still morning, so not too hot. He figured that the fresh air might clear his head some. When he stepped out of his door and onto the warm cement, he looked down and saw ants crawling all over the place. He hated ants. He put his hand to his forehead and felt several scars there that reminded him of what his eccentricities had cost him growing up. Teasing, fighting, injuries. Being a little abnormal could be really inconvenient at times. Stephen remembered one time when he had really gotten his butt kicked after an argument over some strange idea he had. The other boy had repeatedly hit him across the face with a big, rusty can, then shoved his face into an ant pile. Stephen hurt and bled so bad that his mother found him crawling down the sidewalk back to his house. She took him inside and tenderly nursed his wounds, some of which would become those scars he now felt on his head. It just didn’t seem worth it. Stephen did have some good ideas at times, but socially, he was a slug.
The Sunday Whirl