Death. Death is all around me. I'm scared. It's crazy, I know, people think boys are immune to all feelings. They also associate apathy with males, from what I've seen. I don't think it's fair. We have feelings too, you know?

Anyway, the death front. Well. You don't even know who I am, do you? I really think this project is a waste of time. I'd scrap this, but it says more than what I'd probably write otherwise, so I'm not. I'll make a fresh start though, but on the same piece of paper.

Hi, I'm Dan. I'm fourteen years old and go to Tower High, in form 9S. I'm writing this because we've been given an English project to 'write about our feelings and thoughts and everything you want to' in a diary. And we have to update it at least once everyday. She won't get much action off me though. I play football and stuff, but nothing interesting. I'm new here anyway, so I don't really have any friends here, at least not yet. I've never really had many friends anyway. So it's just my thoughts. Hah. That's comforting.

Death front. Third time. Well. I'm new here, as I said (expect repetition from me, I'm sure you've seen that already). My family are all pretty much dead. Dead or never spoke of anyway. Dad buggered off when I was born, so I've never really had a decent man in my life. Mum got it off with another man, and when I was four, he died. She never did get over him. Ten years on, she keels over dead. Well, not exactly keels over. She died in her sleep, but you know what I mean. My grandparents are dead. My aunties and uncles are dead. Everyone's dead, dead, dead. That's why I'm here. Social services hooked me up with foster parents and now I'm stuck. Stuck here. At least they're nice. I just don't want them to die. I fear death myself now. Yeah, to most people it seems unthinkable, boys fearing death. Most seem to be obsessed with killing people. I'm not. I don't sleep very much anymore. I'm scared of dying the same way as mum. Go ahead; laugh at me. At least I can be honest, even if it's only to a diary.

I've only been at this school a week, then I get stuck with a project. Well, I'm not handing this in. No chance in Hell. I'll keep it as a diary though. maybe I'll do the homework. Just not with this. Too personal, and I've only written a few paragraphs.

I've been analysing school. It doesn't seem very good, to be honest. Here goes my analysis.

The lads are strange. They seem to have gotten the impression I'm strange there. Took the guys at my last school a good few years to twig that, so I guess they've got to be pretty smart? Maybe they just don't like me. Lots of people don't like me. They play football and stuff, but don't really want me to join in. All I can really say is 'good riddance'. I don't like playing football much anymore. I quite like my computer. That and writing songs. I used to be in a band, but quit when I got too shy to perform. I'm no good at poetry and stories, but I can write (and sing) songs, luckily enough, because it's something I like.

As for the girls. Well, they mostly seem too boy-mad. Then again, lots of the boys seem girl-mad and I don't want to sound sexist because I'm not. I'm ugly. Anyway who called me pretty would have to be more than half- blind, seriously. So, naturally, most of the girls don't really seem to like me. So the girls and boys on the whole really are a damned idiotic lot.

Out of the whole class who is my favourite? There's a girl called Sabria. She seems pretty nice. I could seriously talk about her for days. She's got brown hair. Tends to wear it in a ponytail. She seems to get ignored and shunned a lot by the class though, and I think it's a damn shame. She has very nice, rounded glasses too and her face is very pretty. Pretty to me, anyway. Everyone else has the impression that she's ugly, but it's the one thing I think you just can't say about her because she's gorgeous. Her eyes are blue and she's very skinny. About four foot seven and only eighty or so pounds.

She was actually the only person nice to me on my first day. A bunch of guys were laughing at me, and it made me feel really small. They were picking on my accent too. Well, it's not my fault what my accent is, is it? It's not my fault that my accent is dissimilar to theirs, is it? I got quite annoyed, but didn't say anything to them.

Enough about that now, I guess. You're not real, but I'm sure you still don't want to listen to me moaning on. No one does.

-Dan