THE THING INSIDE YOUR HEAD

Dear wonderful readers, this book is completely a product of the mind and, hence, any recognition to characters dead or alive is merely coincidential. All rights reserved to the writer and publishers.

It is my utmost hope that you fall in love with this piece of work. It is, indeed, true that where there's a good book, there are good readers - especially in this case where my readers would agree that each character is relatable, in one way or the another.

This book is a blend of sci-fi, teen-fiction and adventure. After reading the whole book and feel a need to contact me, you can do so by mailing me at salvinsawyerr@gmail.com. Your wonderful words of encouragements are what propel me to do more.

It would be unwise if I did not acknowledge certain people who has made this work a success. Since specific names prefer to be left anonymous (unmentioned), I just want to let the world know that this book is dedicated to my family, everyone I've called a buddy, and all those millions of readers out there - both on Facebook, Webnovel, Wattpad, et cetara - who inspired me to write. Much love. . .

Salvin Sawyerr.

(Author)

Every teenager in Mcbornie town seemed to have risen up from bed with a smile in the face, that morning. School had finally resumed, which meant back from the long exhausting holiday. It also meant that they'd be getting to hang out with some friends they hadn't seen for a while.

For Anderson, it was like every other perfect day. He was the most intelligent boy in the whole of school; some even gossiped that he had the brain of a computer. There was no doubt he'd be joining the CIA after graduation.

Now for his age, seventeen, Anderson was already a spectacle. Although, everyone in Mcbornie acknowledged that he was a nerd, he however had well-developed biceps, a well-cut out figure, and a perfect V-shaped face. His grandmother had always thought it ironic.

At the moment, he was lying down on his bed, face to the ceiling, calculating the rest of the day, in advance. He always calculated everything. In fact, his best friend Harrison had concluded to himself that Anderson Simpson was the most organised person in the universe. Anderson was never caught without an activity, or bored out. He always had something to keep himself busy with.

Earlier, the bedside clock had announced day by its sleep-disruptive noise. He'd thrown his hand against it to make it stop.

Anderson drew out his glass case from underneath his pillow and placed the glasses gently, but quickly, on his elegant nose. Then he tapped the Smart Watch fastened around his wrist; lightrays poured on his face, revealing the time: 5:30 a.m. He smiled, then rubbed his hand against the mid-air.

"A brand new day has begun," he muttered to himself.

The classes begun by 8 a.m so he still had all the time to himself. He jerked himself off the bed, took a quick glance at his room which was almost like a half library, half bedroom. Next, he advanced towards his desktop computer which was situated at the far end of the room. Moving sluggishly in his pyjamas, he pulled his glasses to his forehead, giving his eyes a big brush with the back of his shirtsleeve. Then he yawned loudly.

Settling down behind the system, he relaxed his back as he waited for it to boot.

He got a mail from Harrison.

MORNING MATE.

He smiled at the monitor, then typed back: HOW D'YOU DO?

An instant reply came back.

NOT BAD AT ALL. READY FOR THE BIG DAY?

YOU KNOW I WAS BORN READY, came Andy's response.

Two seconds after he'd tapped the ENTER key, an incoming video call appeared on the monitor, from Harry.

Anderson flipped on the lamp beside the computer to avoid turning the room light on. Then he tapped the ENTER key.

"Hey mate," came Harry's ever enthusiastic voice.

"Sup, buddy-"

"You look as normal as yesterday," Harry said, exhibiting his full set of white teeth.

Anderson arched an eyebrow, "And that's supposed to be a compliment, huhn?"

Harry chuckled. Anderson smiled.

"So, what's Master Simpson planning in that big head of his?"

"What I always do at the beginning of every class grade."

Harry smiled as he reminded himself that his friend had been the School Prefect, straight, for four years, which was an odd thing for every existing school.

"You realise this is the twelfth grade, which means the last year in highschool, you should really prepare a much more, should I say, 'memorable speech'."

"Boy, you really do underestimate me, don't you?" said Anderson, a wry smile drawn across his face.

"Okay, okay," said Harry, hands in the air as if to say, "you win." "I shouldn't have underestimated you."

"Apology accepted."

From the background, Anderson could hear Harry's parent quarreling on raised voices.

"Oh, no you don't!" he heard Mrs Edgeton say.

"Get your filthy hands off my trouser, woman!" Mr. Edgeton thundered. "Or, I'll teach you the lesson of your life, the one you haven't graduated from." His voice was sounding very much like a drunkard's. And that was just what he was; a drunkard.

The fight between Michael and Amanda Edgeton had been almost as long as their arrival in Mcbornie - they moved to Mcbornie when both Anderson and Harrison were seven. What baffled Andy and his father was the fact that the woman had not had the marriage annulled. Anderson, normally, had the dilemma that personal matters were always personal matters. The only thing he ever did was cheer his friend up.

Harry's head was bowed, his elbows to the table while one hand supported his forehead. He could hear fits of blows landing on his mother, and so could Anderson. Andy felt embarrassed, not knowing whether to end the call or. . .

Before he could move a muscle, he saw Harry getting up, anger written all over his face, with an expression Andy knew too well - Harry was going to do something really bad.

"Harry! What are you intending to do?" Anderson asked over his shoulders.

"I'm going to do what's right," said Harry. He paused for a second then turned around. "And you should start getting prepared for school." He closed his laptop computer.

* * *

AMANDA Edgeton looked down at the unconscious body on the floor then back to her son, in a mixture of awe and disbelief. Her hands were cupped around her mouth, while tears slipped off her eyes. Before Harry could mutter a word, she threw her arms around his neck and began to cry over his shoulder.

"I promise I won't ever let this happen to you, again -"

She gave way to more tears. She just wanted to tell him how proud she was of him, but chose to remain reserved.

They lived in a two-bedroom flat, few streets away from the Simpsons. It was a really old flat; they'd purchased it from an elderly couple whose children had preferred they moved to live with them - away from Mcbornie.

The flat consisted of a sitting room with an adjoining visitors' toilet, a little kitchen and two bedrooms.

Harry led his mother to the sitting room then he made her some tea. They maintained the silence as she sipped from the mug. He looked at the clock above his head - it was already past six a.m. He closed his eyes as he listened to the rhythmic ticks and the sound of the tea being sipped from the mug in his mother's firm grip.

Suddenly, something broke through the two sounds, and he knew perfectly well what it was. He opened his eyes, almost simultaneously, to see his drunk father staggering by the passage that linked the bedrooms to the sitting room.

Harry watched with intense disgust as he held his face with one hand, and held the wall firmly with the other. He looked from Harry to his wife, then back again. Blood seemed to be slipping off his nostrils; he brushed it with the back of his sleeve.

"You!" said he. "You filthy son of a bitch - I disown you from this very moment - you will cease to be called my son!"

Harry laughed, his voice was a mixture of mockery and contempt.

"You never owned me, so why disown me now, Michael Edgeton?!-"

"Harry! You do not speak to your father that way-" his mother cried out.

"You heard him," said Harry, his eyes still fixed to his father's, "he said that I'm ceased from being his son. Well know this, Mister," he said, talking to his father, "that you're unworthy to be called my father."

Michael's eyes were wide, he had been infuriated. He dashed out of the house in no time.

"Coward!" muttered Harry. He moved to his own room, had a quick bath, picked a clean cloth which he tugged on, hurriedly, grabbed his breakfast - kissing his mother on both cheeks as she sat still on that same position he'd left her - slung his bag over his shoulder, then dashed out.

Jocelyn - Joce for short - could literally trade all her time to be with Anderson Simpson (or Andy, as she preferred to call him); in fact, every girl would!

She was standing before the mirror, admiring her well-developed hips. She caressed her skirt delicately, then pulled the pin that held her blonde hair to let the hair fall, navel-length, at her back. She smiled at the image in front of her and blew a kiss at it.

Joce lived just nextdoor from the Simpsons, and found herself lucky. . . no, fortunate, to be part of their neighbourhood. She'd been friends with Andy since Elementary School. The Simpsons were one of the oldest people in Mcbornie town.

She sighed as she thought about Andy.

He's such a nice guy.

His father is also a very smart. He owned the first business firm in the town. And there; there was also his mother-

From her window, she could see Andy walking out from his house. His hair was neatly combed, glasses as clear as crystals. He wore his favorite jacket over an ash-coloured tee-shirt - then there was this very nice, hair-black pair of jeans too, to match.

"I could catch up with him," she told herself, grabbing her handbag just beside her, skedaddling downstairs.

Her mum and dad were having breakfast, both smartly dressed for work.

Jocelyn's father - Daniel Redwood - was the town's sheriff; while her mother - Stella Redwood- was an employee to The Simpsons Business Firm. They both enjoyed their work, and devoted lots of time to it.

Joce dashed to the door, but on second thought, retracted her steps to take the plate of cookies she knew was hers on the table, then she turned it into her lunch bag.

"Bye Mum, bye Dad," said she, heading for the door.

"Have a nice day, honey!" her mother called over her shoulder. Daniel and Stella exchanged knowing looks, then suppressed a smile.

ANDERSON exhaled out, deeply, after narrating what had just occurred at the Edgetons'. His father had listened patiently, without interrupting, only affirming by nodding his head.

Mr. Simpson was a larger version of Andy. Like Andy, he had a perfect seablue pair of eyes, long legs that resembled those of basketball players, and an auburn-coloured, curled hair over his scalp. He also wore a pair of glasses since his youth.

"Son," said he, "shall I contact the local sheriff nextdoor and speak to him about it? He probably might just know the best thing to do."

Andy sighed. Then he threw his head back for a moment. Mr. Simpson observed his son down his nose, he smiled looking back at himself - he looks no different from me as a boy - then he hid a grin by looking the other way.

"No. Not yet," Anderson said. "I think Harry can handle it - if there's one thing he despised most, it was a bully. I'll have to hear what happened today, if he's willing to tell." He tapped the screen of his watch, and the time displayed on it; 7:15. "Oh my! I have got to go, Dad."

His father smiled, throwing a warm pat on Andy's shoulder. Then he said, "Make sure you handle it well, your friend needs you -"

"I will, Dad, thanks for listening."

"I got to get going, myself." Then just as Andy headed out, he said, "And Andy?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell me all about it at dinner."

Andy nodded then began to run out to the junction where he would wait for the school bus. It passed by, at approximately 7:30 a.m. He'd just passed Jocelyn's house and two others when he heard his name. Turning back, he was not surprised to see Joce.

She was putting on a short-sleeved shirt tucked inside a figure-hug skirt. She flashed a very sweet smile, exposing her dimples. He almost could not believe what the summer holiday had done with Joce.

"Oh, hi Joce."

"Hi Andy, how d'you do?"

"I'm okay, not bad at all."

She held on to her smile.

Together, they increased their pace and got to the junction in no time. They sat on the waiting-bench. To save himself from further discussions, he tapped on the Smart Watch and said, "Music."

His favourite song began to play, and as he flowed with the lyrics, he could see from the corner of his eyes that he'd left Joce astonished.

"Woah!" she exclaimed. "Now, how did you do that?"

He suppressed a grin.

"It's a Smart Watch I invented during the holiday-"

"You did what?!"

He was about to reply when the school bus screeched its wheels before them and horned, once.

"Better get going," he said, and she nodded. They both picked up their bags and walked into the bus.

Turning his head to his favourite position in the bus, he smiled as he saw Harrison with a reserved seat. He heaved a sigh of relief, then sat down beside him.

* * *

The day seemed very appealing, Andy thought. The school had appreciated his Opening Session Speech - if that was what the, "That was a nice speech this morning, Andy," meant that came from the students and teachers.

Andy and Harry discussed over lunch. Harry had just been narrating to Andy how he'd "kicked" his father's butt. Andy laughed hard at Harrison's manner of narration, and the ecstacy attached to his voice in doing "such a bad deed."

"You should have seen his face, dude, he finally marvelled at my strength-" he flexed his biceps for emphasis.

They both turned their attention over Harrison's shoulder as James dashed into the cafeteria, noisily.

James ran to the front line as usual, rather than joining the long queue of students taking turns in getting lunch. Anyone could have pretended oblivion, as always, but not this time. The new guy, Thomas, was already extending his plate to Mrs. Tennyson (the cafeteria lady) when James pushed his plate over Thomas'.

"F**k outta here, douchebag!" Thomas cursed. Mrs. Tennyson gasped at such foul language, then frowned.

"Who're you calling 'douchebag', asshole?" Thomas retorted. "I'm going to have to teach you some manners!"

In a split second, all one could see was Thomas on the great bully, James Heatherfield. Blows kept landing until The Great Bully began to bleed profusely.

Flashlights from mobile phones danced across the dagger-drawn boys.

"He's murdering my big brother!"

What great resemblance! Thomas acknowledged, after averting his eyes to a petite version of The Great Bully.

Already, Anderson had contacted the school authorities. In no time, they were in, advancing towards the scene.

Only there and then had it dawned on Thomas Hardington the repercussion of his hysteria. Me and my anger, he thought, hands shaking over the unconscious body. He grieved inside his heart, then began to rise on one leg, then the other. He skedaddled his gaze across the room of students and teachers - mobile phones hanging high. Then he looked at the exit, moved two steps until he felt a strong grip on his arm. He traced the hand to the School Prefect, Anderson Simpson.

"No you don't."

Thomas tried to struggle, but the Prefect's grip was firm. Then, he felt a much tenser grip on his other hand - the principal's, Mr. Sanderson.

"Good job, Anderson-" Mr. Sanderson turned to Thomas, "-that's enough first impression, Thomas, don't you think?"

Thomas tried to protest, he felt he was misunderstood, but knew better than to wrestle with the principal.