As the twin who never received an invitation; today at 41 I still have never had a friend in the united States of America. It gets old; I can see why people commit suicide. It’s not selfish; it’s I can’t take your American treatment of humans that never did a bad thing to you anymore.
Truth. What friends or family. You know I work, because I will not live your disgusting lifestyle. You sit around like vultures waiting for what you can steal of my hard work; leaving me to practically live on fucking air alone. Name one of you assholes that has ever fucking had a job. Not your “lies”; a real fucking job? One of you liars text me, and tell me you did something in your pathetic life besides steal from me. One of you. You fucking can’t can you?
Today, there are 118 elements on the list. In the 1980s, when I was a kid, there were 108, and ten years before that, there were 106.
It’s these 106 elements, starting with Hydrogen and ending with Seaborgium, that 13-year-old Oliver “Boo” Dalrymple is determined to memorize.* He’s the main character of Neil Smith’s Boo, a dark yet amusing novel in which two boys investigate how they ended up dead. They’re stuck for the next fifty years in an afterlife in which everyone in a town called “Town” is their age.
The last thing Boo remembers of his life is standing in front of his locker reciting the elements when he dropped dead on September 7, 1979. The next thing he knows, he’s lying in a bed at the Meg Murry Infirmary, one of…
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