So if you're sitting comfortably. This is a FICTIONALISED reply to a FICTIONAL letter inviting me to a FICTIONAL high school reunion.**
Bernard Johnson- PhD
45 Millington Avenue
Dear Mr Johnson,
Thank you for your kind invitation to the class of 1987 school reunion planned for next May. I will however be unable to come for the following reasons:
1). Since about 2004 I have had counselling about the 4 years I was at your school. This is in no small part due to your sterling lack of efforts over the continual bullying I experienced while a pupil there. As Headmaster you were in a position to stop this from happening but you did nothing. You also had several well-worn catchphrases to avoid dealing with the situations I found myself in. Your best ones were “six of one, half a dozen of another”, “it’s always you isn’t it Manley?” and “funny how it’s always you they pick on isn’t it?”
2). Even though I’m now in my 40s I am a regular user of a lovely thing called Propranolol, an anxiety suppressant. The first time I ever had an anxiety attack was at the age of 14 in Chemistry class when David Yard, Jason Fair and Darren Paul destroyed an engraved pen I’d been given as a present by my grandfather (they took it apart, pulled the spring out of alignment, snapped the nib and then handed it back to me laughing). They also took it in turns to punch me on my left arm as hard as they could, resulting in it looking like a butcher had been at it with a steak tenderiser. When I told the class teacher about this, he did nothing except wait for me to break school rules a few lessons later (I talked while he was talking) and then triumphantly shouted “complaining about being picked on, eh Manley?!! Not surprised if THAT’S how you behave!!!”
3). Being on school premises again would probably induce nausea, panic attacks and possibly fainting. Specific areas of the school are hot beds of nightmare in my mind. Not least of all the cycle sheds (they face the classroom on level 1 that the bullies used to lean out the window of before the 9am bell) where I was subjected daily to whooping screeching and shouts of “OI, FUCKING QUEER!” or my personal favourite “YOU’VE GOT A TINY COCK YOU TWAT!!!”
4). There is a possibility that my former PE teacher Mr Jacobs will be there, or my English teacher Mrs Robertson, or my Physics teacher Mr Miles. Jacobs was a fat, miserable bully who used to pick up boys by their sideburns, throw books in 12 year old boys’ faces and once made a lad cry by repeatedly poking him in the throat while telling him off. Mrs Robertson was a spiteful cow who used to lie to get pupils into trouble, her favourite being to say she’d seen someone spit out of a window. Finally Mr Miles used to make us all stand up when he came in the room and was a vicious, sour faced cunt. If I see any of these 3 again I’m likely to freak out and at the very least would need to be kept away from anything sharp and/or heavy if in visual range of them.
5). Up until the age of about 31, I used to masturbate while thinking about murdering you, your staff and about 50% of the pupils at the school. This fantasy was elaborate and well planned in my head. It included what type of weapons I would use (flamethrower was the mainstay, pump action shotgun a close second) and the 3 lists I had in my head. These were SITH (Shoot In The Head), KF (kneecap first), and LL (Let Live). You were a KF, as was your fat bitch of a wife that we saw occasionally on Summer and Xmas fetes. Only two teachers were on LL; Mr Robson, who taught English. A finer man you could never meet. I saw him again recently and we had a long chat over a coffee that I paid for; and Mr Surtain who taught Maths. A lovely gent and a good laugh. Never patronising. A LOT of teachers were SITHS mind you. I just couldn’t be bothered torturing them first.
6). My memories of your school are nothing except miserable, unhappy and fuelled by the kind of rage that might make the Hulk shrink back into the Gamma radiation lab. I hated every second I was there, I prayed that someone would take me out of there nearly every day. They didn’t.
So once again. Thank you for your very kind offer of attending the class of 1987 reunion, but I must politely decline.
I wish you well on this reunion and would like to make it clear that if you ever contact me again I’ll make such a mess of your face that they’ll have to identify you from your fingerprints.
Yours with the deepest respect.
Lance Manley LLB (Hons)