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Edmonton, Alberta. I was six and in the first grade. Ryan LaPlante was a troubled child, I befriended him maybe being troubled myself. "It was green candy" he said. "It tastes like Smarties!" I ate it, still to this day I have a bit of a sweet tooth. It was close to fathers day and myself and the other students gathered in the room where messy activities happened. Let's call it the art room. I colored vigorously at the popsicle sticks all glued together in the shape of a pencil holder. How proud my dad was going to be. The room started spinning. It was the green felt, I knew it. It had to be. It triggered something in me. I began wheezing and talking in riddles. They rushed me to the hospital and pumped me full of liquid asthma medication. It worked fast. I slept. Later that night I woke in a fit. breathing rapidly in short breaths not knowing what was happening. Nurses and doctors rushed in to help me. I screamed and spat words I didn't know existed and they didn't know I knew existed. "Fuck you, you fucking bastards. Eat shit. Go fuck yourself". They held me down and I passed out, then slipped into a coma. It wasn't an allergic reaction to the felts like they thought. It was a reaction to the pills. an overdose. I was six and in the first grade. They passed charcoal through my veins and flushed my system clean. I woke from the coma three or four days later, maybe longer. There was a girl in the room with me, also in a coma, she never came out of it. There were flowers and toys everywhere and everything a child would need when he's about to die. I saw uncles with pee filled coffee cups, from sitting in traffic to long. I saw aunts and grandmothers and grandfathers and friends. All whom only were there to say their goodbyes. I tricked them though. The doctor said "he's got a strong heart, he wouldn't have made it otherwise". Ryan went to a hospital of his own.


Members:
Spencer Burton