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		Not my characters (by and large), not for money.
		DANCE ***I've got a ruby red desire. Like a virus, like my last hope. I've gotta hear the red bird sing. I've gotta rip this cord and rinse this lazy blood ... clear a path and walk away. I wanna live. --Heather Nova, Ruby Red***
		November 18th, 1998 Dr. Bright, I'm sorry to bring a concern to you so soon after your arrival. You must barely have had a chance to settle in. Still, this school has a history of unpleasant incidents, and I've learned that no one is served when we see a potential problem and look the other way. A student in my senior English class recently turned in a piece of writing which I find unnerving. Possibly he is simply and imaginative and convincing writer, but when you see the subject material, I think you'll understand my unease. I should mention that this student is currently repeating his senior year. I believe this is a function of his extra-curricular activities (he is a member of a rock band). Whatever else this troubled youth may be, he has some talent for writing, and it's difficult to see potential wasted. I hope that we can work together to help this young man. Richard Gibson



		I'm not the type. I'm not any of the types. I don't own a motorcycle, and I'm not on the football team, and I don't sell psychonaut supplies behind the Red Rooster ... but I do get into fights. I didn't mean to. At least, not at first. I've always been a pretty quiet guy. They say you go through a lot of changes during the high schools years, and I won't disagree. It's funny how a change can happen inside your own body and you're still the last to know. I don't remember most of the fights, to tell the truth. I don't know what they're about. Probably nothing. When the fight is over, I don't remember very much ... but I do know that my arms and legs feel warm and alive. They would do anything I told them to do. When a fight is over, I know that I'm only half-awake most of the time. Even those days when I wake up before the alarm goes off and the Corn Pops taste extra sweet and I sing all the way to home room ... even then, I'm only half awake. I don't do it all the time. Once a month, that's it. Okay, not even once a month now, because when I feel the urge to scrap, I ask my friends to watch me. I don't want to be a bad guy. I don't want to throw the first punch. It's just that sometimes, I think about the blood moving through me, and my body doing exactly what I say. It's smoother than a video game. I can dance. More than anything, I wish I didn't know how it felt. I wish I had never learned what it was like to be awake and alive. Now that I know, every day is like that moment on Saturday morning when it's been nice and it's been cozy, but you don't want to stay in bed anymore. Is it wrong that I want to get up?