October 3, 1988

27 days remaining

Donnie got out of his mother's Taurus, tucking in the white shirt of his school uniform as he went. Rose called to Samantha before driving away. "Don't forget, Ms. Farmer will bring you home after practice!"

Samantha waved a cheery good-bye, but Donnie only turned away at Rose's farewell. He followed his sister to the bus stop, where the usual crowd waited for some juicy gossip. Samantha's friend Joanie James gushed at them. "Oh. My. Gosh. Tell me everything."

"We're not allowed to talk about it," Samantha said professionally. She turned to a chubby Asian girl with earmuffs on her head. "Hi, Cherita!"

The girl responded immediately. "Chut up!" The words fired from her mouth like pieces of shrapnel. Ronald Fisher took Donnie by the arm, wearing his usual shit-eating grin.

"Darko cheats death!" he cried, mimicking a football touchdown. "You're like a celebrity, man! I've called like a jillion times. Where've ya been?"

"We stayed at a hotel."

Fisher's voice went lower. "Hey, uh... My dad said he saw you at the golf course. You sleepwalking again now, buddy?" He gave Donnie a little punch on the shoulder, to emphasize that they were friends and could tell each other anything. Donnie smiled. "I don't wanna talk about it."

His other friend, Sean Smith, offered Donnie a cigarette. "And now that you're famous, you gotta have a smoke!"

Donnie took the cigarette and pointed it threateningly at his sister. "What happens if you tell Mom and Dad about this, Sam?"

Samantha sighed, having gone this routine before. "You'll put Ariel in the garbage disposal."

"Damn right I will." Donnie lit up, scowling. Joanie was mildly offended. "So grody," she sniffed.

Ronald turned to the Asian girl. "Hey Cherita, you want a cigarette?"

"Chut up!"

Ronald and Shaun cackled. "Chut u-u-up!" Ronald repeated mockingly. Sean added, "Go back to China, bitch!" They laughed. Cherita imperceptibly shrinking, eyes trapped.

Donnie held out an arm, warningly. "Just leave her alone."

His two friends glanced at each other, then backed off. Ronald tried to salvage the moment by changing the subject. He nodded at the cigarette in Donnie's mouth. "That's some good shit, huh?"

Donnie exhaled smoke. "It's a fucking cigarette," and the way he said it made it suddenly seem so pointless. Ronald and Sean puffed in a blue funk until the bus came, and they boarded without another word with their troubled friend.

Stepping off the bus always felt like an otherworldly experience for Donnie. He couldn't explain it. It felt like when he'd rode his bike back into Middlesex, where none of his fantasies up on the Ridge could ever properly manifest themselves. Dreams of becoming a success, a famous painter, a grade-A student... Zombie hands sprouted from the dirt, pulling it all back into the earth as soon as he passed that Halloween Haunt sign.

School had the same effect. Students, with their shiny white shirts and nicely pressed bottoms, streamed in and out of the building. Some stoned, some drunk, some smart, some flunked. Some beautiful, most average. A cross prominently displayed on the roof tower, a symbol too high for most of them to see. Behind the statue of the school's bulldog mascot, affectionately dubbed The Mutt, Samantha practiced dance routines with her friends. She looked so happy. Donnie couldn't bring himself to watch her.

He wasn't paying attention to where he was going and nearly bumped into Seth Devlin, who snarled silently in his direction before leaving to snort coke with a pal in the shadow of his locker. The headmaster walked by, oblivious.

Behind the headmaster, though, was a newcomer. He wasn't a teacher... Donnie remembered Dr. Fisher's golf partner. Wondered what he was doing here. Hoped he wouldn't remember the weird kid who slept on golf courses.

The bell rang, and students and staff funnelled themselves into their proper rooms. Doors shut all down the hallways. Donnie thought about the way everyone went to the same places and sat in the same seats every day, without even having to be told. It was more than a routine pattern. It was almost like fate.

Am I destined to sit in this seat, day after day? What would happen if I could change... just one little thing...

Karen Pomeroy stood imperiously at the front of the class, reading from Graham Greene's short story, 'The Destructors'. She could feel the students watching her every move, knew the image of herself they had styled in their minds. Hippie. The self-styled red hair flowing past her shoulders, the loose clothing, wide belt buckles and pierced ears- there could be no other title. But she enjoyed it, even as Kittie Farmer tut-tutted as they passed during staff lunches. Relished it, even. Her voice grew stronger.

"'There would be headlines in the papers,'" she read gravely. "'Even the grown-up gangs who ran the betting at the all-in wrestling and the barrow boys would hear with respect of how Old Misery's house had been destroyed.'"

She looked around, seeing the rapt faces of her students as they hung onto her every word. Continued. "'It was as though this plan had been with him all his life, pondered through the seasons; now, in his 15th year, crystallized with the pain of puberty.'"

She put down the book and began pacing the front of the room. "What is Graham Greene trying to communicate with this passage? Why did the children break into Old Misery's house?" She pointed. "Joanie?"

Joanie was matter-of-fact. "They wanted to rob him."

Karen expected giggles to circulate the room, but nobody laughed. She noticed Donnie Darko smirking in the front. Maybe he was the only one who'd read the book. "Joanie, if you had actually read the short story- which at a whopping 13 pages would have kept you up all night- you would know that the children find a great deal of money in the mattress."

She looked dramatically around the room. "...But they burn it."

"Oooh. Aaaah," from the class.

"You suck!" Ronald whispered in Joanie's ear.

Karen shushed them. "Donnie Darko, perhaps with your recent brush with mass destruction, you can give us your opinion."

Everyone waited expectantly for the celebrity to talk. He bent his head, fiddled with his pencil. Finally began to speak.

"Well, right when they flood the house and tear it to shreds, they say that destruction is a form of creation. So the fact that they burn the money is ironic. They want to change things."

The class was silent. Donnie played with his pencil, a faraway look in his dark eyes. He smiled distantly.

"They just want to see what happens when they tear the world apart."

Karen took a breath, but the door at the back of the class opened before any words came out of her mouth. Good. She hadn't prepared anything to say, anyway. Students' heads turned to the source of the interruption.

"May we help you?" Karen inquired coolly.

The newcomer was a slight girl, with brown hair past her shoulders and a pale, slender face. She looked uncomfortable. "Uh, hi, I'm Gretchen Ross. I just registered and they put me in the wrong English class."

Karen raised an eyebrow. "You look like you belong here." A few chuckles from the class, clearly enjoying this.

The girl shuffled nervously. "Um... Where do I sit?"

Karen pretended to consider it. "Sit next to the boy you think is cutest," she said casually. The class went into an uproar. "Quiet! Let her choose."

Gretchen looked around the room, which was suddenly full of leering boys. Ronald winked lewdly at her. Sean tried in vain to fix his hair. She scanned the rows of faces, finally settling on...

Karen watched Donnie and Gretchen staring at each other. Silently applauded the girl's decision. "Joanie, get up."

Sulking, Joanie gathered up her book bag and ended up in front of Sean, who immediately started blowing air down her neck. Gretchen slid into the empty seat, eyes still locked with Donnie's. Donnie grinned widely, and it took five minutes for Karen to get the class to shut up. The pain of puberty, indeed.

"So. How was school today?"

"Fine."

"You learn anything?"

"Arts and crafts was a blast."

Donnie stared out the window of the station wagon as Eddie accelerated down Old Gun Road, a back road leading out of town. We're off to see the head shrink, the wonderful head shrink of Oz... His father appeared not to have noticed his sarcasm. Or maybe he was hiding his disappointment.

Donnie tried to start over. "They still don't know?"

"Know what?"

"Where it came from."

Eddie grunted. "No. Apparently they can't tell us what happened yet. Something about a matching serial number that got burned."

Donnie rubbed his left arm unconsciously. Eddie chuckled. "I had to sign a form saying I wouldn't talk to anyone about it."

"So we're not supposed to tell anyone what nobody knows." They laughed.

"Yeah. But you tell your doctor-"

"Dr. Thurman, dad."

"Yes. You tell Dr. Thurman whatever you want."

Eddie looked over at his son, smiling reassuringly. Maybe things would turn out all right. Donnie was no Frankie Feedler. He was just a little-

"Dad?"

"What?" he smiled.

Donnie lunged across the dashboard. "DAD!"

Eddie spun around and slammed the brakes just in time. Father and son watched in disbelief as an elderly woman with a shock of white hair wandered back and forth in front of the Taurus, inches away from being mowed down in her slippers.

Donnie got out of the car as the woman hobbled her way to her ancient mailbox, bending down to inspect the contents. The red flag wasn't up and hadn't been for over forty years. The nameplate on the side read "R. SPARROW".

Middlesex knew her better as Grandma Death.

He smiled sympathetically as the old woman closed the box. "No mail today. Maybe tomorrow," he said, not sure if she could even hear him.

Suddenly, as if attracted by a strange new force, she turned around and limped back to him. Clawed fingers curled around his shoulder, pulling him down to her level. Her breath tickled as she whispered something in his ear...

Eddie came out to join his son, glancing at Mrs. Sparrow as she made her way back to her house. Peered at the disturbed look on Donnie's face. "Well? What did she say to you?"

Donnie opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

"I made a new friend."

"Real or imaginary?"

Haunted eyes.

"Imaginary."

"Would you like to talk about this friend?"

Forcing the name out. "Frank."

"Frank. ...And what did Frank say?"

"He said... to follow him."

"Follow him? Where?"

Hesitation. Fear of his own conviction. Look at his eyes.

"Into the future."

"And then what happens?"

"And then he said... Then he said that the world was coming to an end."

More hesitance. Drops the thread of conversation.

"Do you think the world is coming to an end?"

"No." A small laugh. Unconvincing. "That's stupid."