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A son needs for his mother.

The city council meetings were usually filled with these kinds of debates, ranging from the banning of live music bars to imposing what non-ecofriendly vehicles Wonderland residents could own. Total Dullsville.

So to escape the white collar residents from my residential neighborhood of Bella Lane, I ride my bike to Lake Wonder and sit on the south section of the Wonderland Board Walk because it's the only part that hasn't rotted through. The last thing I want is to take a plop into the murky, mold-covered muck. That isn't the most regal way to die, you know.

I sat on my familiar perch, the place I deemed "the Overlook" merely because it was the only point of the remaining boardwalk that followed the land and stretched out into Lake Wonder. It was only a few feet from the center of the muddy bog and isolated to the extreme.

Because Lake Wonder was a boggy, murky, horrendously uncool swamp surrounded by fog, taking out electronics or books was at your own risk: the moisture one day had destroyed my brand new iPod. After that very hard-learned lesson, I never brought much of anything with me. If my school day was bad enough, I came here with my school bag and that was about it. Take now, for instance. I just had my book bag and my bike. They should be relatively safe from the mist.

I pulled up my hood as said mist began to fall and brooded at the lake.

Memories of school came flashing back, each memory causing me to flinch and my stomach to ache.

Someone had put crushed up Miralax into my soda today at lunch. I had fled within the hour to the restroom with a haggle of giddy seniors at my back, filling up the long hallway with their snide laughter. Only with the permission of the nurse had I been able to skip class and go home early, putting me a full hour and a half ahead of schedule.

I always tried to hold out from going home until around five, usually because my parents were already home and had snipped at each other long enough to get over the terrible workday, leaving me free of their criticism or badgering questions.

I checked my watch on cue. It was two o' clock exactly.

I pulled my knees up to my chin, clutching my legs tightly together.

After the Miralax/Microlax/Exlax incident, I had missed two important tests today: Advanced Chemistry and Anatomy and Physiology. How do I explain to my teachers what happened? That because I had a bowel movement brought on by unknowingly ingesting laxatives I missed the tests? How embarrassing!

Hot pinpoints pricked the back of my eyes and I ducked my head down, inhaling deeply.

I don't know why the other kids pick on me like this. I'm not a weirdo or anything. I don't have lice or make art out of my food. I don't eat glue or study the boogers I picked in the middle of class. I mean, I'm just a normal junior in high school...so why do people have to pick on me?!

I lifted up my head and stood up quickly, my heart pounding in anguish in my chest. I had to get out of here.

I scooped up my bag and picked up my bike by the handlebars, thinking it would be nice to ride the trails through the Wonderland Hike and Bike before I went home, but the sound of a creaky door opening stopped me from jumping onto the bike.

I swallowed hard and slowly turned around, hoping that I wouldn't find some radioactive monster emerging from the murky depths.

Instead I found a transparent...castle.

As the fog boiled and steamed around it, the castle became less substantial in a way, but still there, erm, sort of. I turned myself around again to face the castle. Does Microlax cause hallucinations?

I rolled the bike closer to the edge of the boardwalk and hesitantly reached out to touch the open door of the castle, to prove this was nothing but a laxative-induced hallucination.

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