Everyone Hates Monday


As the ground rushed up to meet him, he grumbled his refrain: “Call me Monday. Everyone does.” If strangers asked why, he would mutter and look away, twitches and tics writhing on his face like a basket of snakes.

It began at school and stuck. “I don’t like Monday,” the gangs sang, every time he passed. But there were other names. His foster-parents called him “John”, and to the teachers he was “Taverner.” Clare, who didn’t have any other friends, called him “Johnie” and said it in a nice way.

“She likes me,” he told himself. “She’s the only one that does.”

She cried when she heard the news and felt alone.

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