Story 14 - Germs, Germs Everywhere...with added empathy
A Must-Read Lesson for Parents, Guardians and Teachers
WHAT’S INSIDE THIS POST?
1 - The Story
2 - A Must-Read Lesson for Parents, Guardians and Teachers
3 - Inference Questions with added PEE
4 - Model Answers
SECTION 1 - THE STORY
I stared at the ashen wall before me, trying to pick out patterns in the dull grey as I waited for my train to arrive. The floor was sticky and littered with those little splodges of chewing gum that look like flecks of old paint. I counted them quickly, uneasy with the fact that I could only see twenty three. An odd number. My chest tightened. To my right, more and more people marched down the stairs—all forty of them. Thank God it was forty. At least that was even. My anxiety settled for a moment, but the underground station was filling up fast and this was my worst nightmare: rush-hour.
The sticky air swirled around, washing itself against my already clammy skin and causing me to sweat some more. Not that I wasn’t sweaty enough already. My armpits were drenched, and I had to keep them pinned to my side to make sure the smell didn’t escape and assault any of the other commuters. Just then, a man—as bald as me but much larger—pushed past. His head shone with a layer of glistening sweat, and I was shoved against the wall behind me.
I tried to make myself as small as possible to avoid being touched. I hated it when strangers touched me. It always left me with a strong need to wash myself clean, as if they had passed on some virus or disease. I knew that was irrational—what could he have possibly given me in that brief moment? I felt the spot on my tubby belly where his arm had touched begin to itch; it was all in my head of course, but still it itched. Oh how it itched!
My face flushed a deep red. I glanced around, hoping no one had seen me rubbing my stomach or wiping my hands on my jeans. I felt so ridiculous; I knew if they’d seen me they would be silently judging me for my actions. Why couldn’t I be normal? Normal people didn’t lose themselves in their own obsessions like this, did they? Then, as if on cue, it struck. Please, no! Not now. Not this one. Like I didn't have enough already to worry about. But there was no stopping it. A panic that’s plagued me since as long as I can remember stormed to the front of my mind:
‘Did I lock the front door?’
I’m sure I did. I always did. But I couldn’t picture it. I had been so distracted fretting about my upcoming journey, that I’d forgotten to check the lock three times. But surely I would have locked it. It was routine. Oh, why couldn’t I remember? I racked my brain, searching for some stored memory of my key in the lock, yet nothing came.
DIIINNNGGG!! The speaker system at the station burst to life, a piercing screech reverberating through the hollow chambers of the underground and forcing everyone to cover their ears. It shook me from my worries for a moment. Then, a muffled and nasal voice spoke: “We regret to inform you that the District line has been delayed due to a signal failure at Baron’s Court.”
I rushed for the exit of this hell-hole before anyone else worked out what was happening. I couldn’t bear the thought of having to push through a crowd of people. Luckily, I made it out before the rush began. But outside, on the street, all I could see were germs, germs, and more germs: GERMS EVERYWHERE! The handrails, the doors, the bus stop—everything was crawling with them.
I stood frozen by the exit, wondering if I should find somewhere to wash my hands, even though I hadn’t touched anything. I knew I didn’t need to. I knew I was fine. But still... my hands felt sticky and the idea of not cleaning them gnawed at my brain. To distract myself, I started tapping my fingers against my leg—four taps, always four. It didn’t make the itch on my stomach go away or cleanse my palms, but it was something I could control, and for a second, I felt calmer. Until that intrusive thought shot back: the front door. Lock or unlocked? That was the question.
SECTION 2: A LESSON FOR PARENTS, GUARDIANS AND TEACHERS
Writing in first person does not mean you are the main character. Instead, it means you get to play the part of the main character. People are often surprised when they meet the actors behind cinema’s most nightmarish villains, as they turn out to be much nicer than we’d expect. Ever since seeing Gary Oldman play the child-murdering, pill-popping, corrupt-to-the-bone police detective in Luc Besson’s classic Léon, I can’t imagine being near the guy without shuddering in anger and fear; and yet, I’ve only ever heard good things about him. This is what makes a great actor, though. They are able to connect so deeply with the complex and often fragmented makeup of these characters that their pretence strikes us as real. As writers, we do the same.
I am an anxious person. I worry about things others perceive as trivial. In this respect, I resonate with the panicked pulses that poison the character above; through this shared experience, I can draw closer to him. And yet, in many other ways, we are different. He is not me, and I am not him. However, through my writing, I am trying to understand him. I am trying to see what it’s like to struggle with the challenge of OCD. I want to feel what it’s like to walk in his shoes. I deliberately set the story in a place familiar to my usual routine as a Londoner so that I can contrast his “worst nightmare” with my everyday. It is in this stark comparison that I seek empathy.
Am I successful?
Yes.
And not because it’s ‘good’ writing. That’s not really the point. The point is I tried. I can’t think of anything else in life where this is the lesson. There are a million quotes about how trying leads to failure, which eventually leads to success (all of them golden, I’m sure), but when it comes to empathy, the success is immediate the moment you try. Of course, you are free to berate me endlessly for the shallowness of my understanding and how distorted my reflection of OCD is, but I will simply take your comments and listen. And in listening, I multiply my empathy tenfold.
For me, seeing life through different perspectives is the true power of creative writing. In a world of increasingly insular social media echo chambers, which anchor themselves in the aggressive assumption that ‘I feel something, so it must be true,’ writing a story from the perspective of another is a pivotal tool in helping build compassion, understanding, and empathy in our children. Don’t always worry about the quality of your child’s output; sometimes focus on the process of trying. The guaranteed success of this singular input equation means that the more often they write as someone else, the more empathetic they will become.
“Try = Empathy”
SECTION 3: INFERENCE QUESTIONS WITH ADDED PEE
Why does the character feel uneasy when counting the splodges of chewing gum?
How does the character feel about being touched by strangers?
What does the repetitive tapping of the fingers on the leg suggest about the character’s behaviour?
How does the delayed train announcement affect the character’s mood?
Explanation of PEE (Point, Evidence, Explanation)
Point: This is where you make a statement. It's the main POINT you're answering in the question.
Evidence: This is where you find a sentence or detail from the text to support your point. It's proof from the story that backs up what you’re saying. Be careful your quote isn’t too long.
Explanation: This is where you explain how your evidence supports your point. You talk about what it shows and why it matters. Make sure you refer to the story and characters.
SECTION 4: MODEL ANSWERS
Why does the character feel uneasy when counting the splodges of chewing gum?
Point: The character feels uneasy because there are 23 splodges, and that’s an odd number.
Evidence: The text says, "I counted them quickly, uneasy with the fact that I could only see 23. An odd number. My chest tightened."
Explanation: This shows that the character feels nervous when they see odd numbers. They would feel better if there was an even number, like 24, instead.
How does the character feel about being touched by strangers?
Point: The character feels uncomfortable and doesn’t like it when strangers touch them.
Evidence: The text says, "I hated it when strangers touched me. It always left me with a strong need to wash myself clean, as if they had passed on some virus or disease."
Explanation: This shows that the character feels very uncomfortable when a stranger touches them. They want to wash themselves even though they know it’s not really necessary.
What does the repetitive tapping of the fingers on the leg suggest about the character’s behaviour?
Point: The character taps their fingers to help calm down when they’re worried.
Evidence: The text says, "To distract myself, I started tapping my fingers against my leg—four taps, always four."
Explanation: The character taps their fingers in a certain way, and this helps them feel better when they’re anxious or nervous. It’s also apparent that the number four is even, which is another aspect of life that calms them.
How does the delayed train announcement affect the character’s mood?
Point: The announcement takes the character’s mind clears their current concerns, but adds in new ones.
Evidence: The text says, "It shook me from my worries for a moment." But then, “I couldn’t bear the thought of having to push through a crowd of people.”
Explanation: The loud announcement made the character switch to a new worry, but soon after, they return to panicking about germs and the potentially unlocked front door.