Artistic Discoveries in European Schoolyards

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24. Quiet time
Blanka Click click click click
Tonda Let’s see give it here How does it work Right You have to press this one up here Click and then down there on the star Click Beep There you go Wait don’t grab it
Give me it I had it first
Chill
It’s gone again Click Star and then what
First up there and then the star
Star up there There isn’t one
Moron
Just tell me I’ll do it myself
Stop whinging If you’re useless you can’t do it yourself Click click Beep There you go Now what do you want to do with it
Games
Games games games games wait where are they Shit not that one Shit not that one either
So who’s the moron
Mine has a toggle so first I have to get used to it don’t I Fuck these touch pads are mad I just touch it and it jumps around
You fuckwit
Shut it. Cool It’s got a mega photo memory Nice one
Gissit here
Chill just people you don’t know From work probably
She’s minging
Isn’t she
Nice rack though
Idiot
Find those games then before Dad takes it he’s leaving in a minute
Wait Azor wait Whoops I’m somewhere else again Jesus he’s sent enough of them
Gissit here
Wait
What
Look
What
Read that
Thanks darling it was great What was
What do you mean what He didn’t write that by mistake
Who to
How should I know
Her with the tits maybe
Could be Why would he have so many photos of them
What are we going to do Let’s tell Mum
Are you mad She can’t find out it’d be the end
Let’s delete them then and the photos
What does that change They’ll still carry on texting
At least Dad’ll know we know about it
What good does that do
We can use it when we need something
Blackmail eh You’re evil… Maybe Mum ought to know though
You just said she shouldn’t and now she should
So she’s not being taken for a ride and can defend herself How bad is that fussing over him and attending to his every need and all the time he’s cheating on her
No Let’s not tell her
Why not
They’d get divorced
People do
Jesus you mean you wouldn’t mind if they split us up one with Mum and one with Dad
They don’t usually do that
Or they won’t ask us and they’ll give us both to Dad
No they’d give us to Mum
What if they didn’t What if Mum broke down What then
Don’t yell Stop screaming like a little boy
I don’t want to live with Dad I’d rather run away Doing that to Mum I won’t forgive him I won’t live with him never ever I’ll go somewhere they can’t find me I’ll go this evening and I’m never coming back
Stop it you lunatic What about me Would you leave me here
We’ll go away together then
You’re not thinking about Mum are you It’d be another blow for her Stop carrying on Maybe nothing even happened
What do you mean
Well He could have been thanking someone I don’t know the cook in the canteen for making a nice dinner or some fat old secretary for arranging something and making phone calls to get him out of trouble or I don’t know
You’re mental
Stop crying If we don’t tell Mum then what do we do
We’ll have to take revenge on Dad ourselves
How are we going to do that
We’ll play tricks on him
You’re a total fuckwit
Or we’ll write to that one with the tits that he doesn’t love her any more
Milan Jesus You’re not that mad Give it here
Petr Gentlemen, the phone!!

25. LUCKYBOY 2

Petr, Tonda, Milan I’m a foreigner here, although I was born here. Here, in this building, in this street, down which I walk several times a day, there and back. To school in the morning, back from school in the afternoon. My friends who were born on this estate do various things. The ones who want to show off in front of girls get out a disgusting manky carpet they found by the dustbins, spread it out on the concrete and try to break dance. The ones that don’t shit themselves with fear and have some money buy spray cans and draw some nice graffiti on this grey concrete wall. Then there are lots who just hang about doing sod all, drinking, smoking fags or joints, sit around and talk about nothing.
Hi… I’m good, what about you?
See this huge scar on my forehead and chin? That’s one of the numerous souvenirs of my accident… which totally changed me.
I kept getting the feeling that my thoughts were running away somewhere I couldn’t get to them. That they were breaking up and running away, like when you have a shot and you had other shit in you beforehand. I didn’t understand myself, I couldn’t understand what was going on.
I’ve got a friend. It might seem strange, but the person who stood by me all that time, through good times and bad, was my mother. Not that she held a protective wing over me, definitely not, but whenever something happened she sent me to my room to think about it. I tried to, but before, it still never quite worked. The accident unlocked a different way of seeing things, maybe a way of being above the things that were around me… I realised it wasn’t important what people around me thought about me, but what I thought about myself. What convictions I have inside myself. I found I could influence and control my thoughts, and as a result my actions.
My eyes only opened once I’d been in hospital for two months. I couldn’t read after a whole, I couldn’t sleep at night either, and so all I could do was to lie looking at the ceiling like an idiot. It was then that I understood I had to rely on myself above all. My friends from the street, who I thought were real friends, carried on coming to see me for about a week maybe. Then they completely forgot about me.
I don’t want to be the same as someone else. Maybe that’s why I feel so foreign here, disinherited…
The doctors said I was a miracle child, that I’d been born again, that if my body hadn’t been so young and unscathed, I might not have survived. And it was a good thing I’d had a helmet on that day (I don’t know why it occurred to me, I never rode with a helmet on, but that day I said I’d try it with one on, see how it felt, although I looked like a twat in it). As you can see, I still limp a little, but I’ve got young bones, and apparently it’ll heal before I get married.