May. 2nd, 2014

Zoe spent the afternoon in the library with the rest of her Critical Thinking class, silently going over past examination papers. The class across the hall from their regular room were doing dramatic readings of some play and it sounded like they were throwing furniture around, and because Zoe’s teacher had feelings for the drama teacher (so the rumour went) he’d shifted their class to the library rather than ask the other class to quiet down.

Zoe didn’t mind. There was more space in the library, and she could sit by herself near the window and get on with writing her short essay. She’d chosen the statement ‘Why bother wasting time trying to understand dreams when there is so much we have yet to learn about the real world?’ which felt annoyingly relevant to her own life. If she’d been able to use examples of her own life she would have killed it, but as it was she was attacking the assumption that the ‘real world’ couldn’t have important reflections in the subconscious. She had to mention Freud. Zoe hated Freud. Her pen was digging into her paper and her hand was starting to cramp.

... )

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Darker London

October 2014

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