His hatred for his controllers festered as only hate can - deep in the gut.
It nourished him.
Gave his life the little meaning it had.
Made sense of Monday’s symbolic promise of five school-days coming.
The week sprawled out in front of him.
The soul-crushing, tedious hours.
The awful journey from controlling class to controlling class… to controlling home.
And back again.
And, yes, he made sense of Sunday’s death-routines too