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He was the last to leave the swimming pool. He climbed out and dried off. The sky outside was yellow. He wrote a note to let his teachers know he was the last to leave. Except his handwriting didn't look like his own. And this unnerved him.

Later he was in a field. It was a very cool night, cool and clear. He felt as if he had made a very big mistake but couldn't remember what that was. He danced around the field slowly, alone.

He ventured back to the swimming pool late the next morning. It was a typically autumnal day, quite windy. He stripped to his trunks and lowered himself into the water. He waded around, smiling serenely. He found himself thinking of a pretty lassie he knew. Next thing he knew he was semi-erect. He tried to think of other things. He felt as if someone had played a trick on him to stop his thoughts coming out properly. It was a sheer fucking drag. It wis a sheer fuckin drag so it wis. It wis a fuckin nonsense man.

He pulled his trunks down and did a jobby. He would come to regret this decision.

An investigation had been launched. The culprit was being sought. Auld tarts were eating their Weetabix in a dank, murky, alien dawn. Rage and punishment and hysteria were being incubated in preparation for being unleashed on certain hapless cunts.
Respectable eejits were forming mass circle jerks in bohemian suburban boredom centres. Beautifully ethereal whores were being used as cum dumps by studiously crass, balding, aggressive ignoramuses.

Celebrations of boredom, depravity, exploitation, desperation, seediness, brutality, injustice, despair

The solemn psuedo-mother guided the feckless washing machine idiot boy