jaylar
It wasn’t that he’d always been Clever Barry or Aware Barry, he hadn’t. He’d been Nobarry, the most ignore-able kid in the room.
Barry had fantasies and dreams, ideas and thoughts he had kept to himself. In Uglytown he didn’t have anyone to talk to, really, and whining to his parents, “No body likes me…” was not something he ever did.
Here, in this strange place, able to create the person he wanted to be, he had.
He really had.
It was almost a miracle.
As Barry reread his journal, he thought of everything he’d left out.
It was funny, although he’d erased a lot of the words and replaced them with more positive and self aggrandising statements, he could recall and partially see what had been there.
He remembered hearing something about a glass of water; half empty or half full; a kind of mood controller, a way to view reality.
If he were Nobarry he would have seen his new town as a dangerous, ugly, treacherous place, where he was not only alone but in hostile territory.
As this new Barry, this ‘Mav’ Barry, he saw it as one would a plastic model of a town, on a table, where he could stand and look at it from a distance, getting the comprehensive view.
