My father was a somniloquist; he only talked to me in his sleep. Lured at night by his one-sided conversation one room over, I would escape the cot I'd grown out of, gaze at my sleeping mother, and ... [+]
Translated by Wendy Cross
Paul is one of the kids in my class. Paul always sits by himself at the back of the class. He has big green glasses, looks shy and has such a trembling voice that he sounds as if he's stumbling over every word. When I smile at him, he looks away. When a teacher asks him a question, he looks at his feet when he replies, even though he almost always knows the right answer. Paul looks a bit weird sometimes but there's nothing really wrong with him. I sometimes wonder why he's like that, always sad, almost invisible. Paul doesn't really have any friends. The others often torment him between less