BooksBarbecue
Back Destroy All Monsters Save as PDF
Chapters (79)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Twelve
  16. Thirteen
  17. Fourteen
  18. Fifteen
  19. Sixteen
  20. Seventeen
  21. Eighteen
  22. Nineteen
  23. Twenty
  24. Twenty-One
  25. Twenty-Two
  26. Twenty-Three
  27. Twenty-Four
  28. Twenty-Five
  29. Twenty-Six
  30. Twenty-Seven
  31. Twenty-Eight
  32. Twenty-Nine
  33. Thirty
  34. Thirty-One
  35. Thirty-Two
  36. Thirty-Three
  37. Thirty-Four
  38. Thirty-Five
  39. Thirty-Six
  40. Thirty-Seven
  41. Thirty-Eight
  42. Thirty-Nine
  43. Forty
  44. Forty-One
  45. Forty-Two
  46. Forty-Three
  47. Forty-Four
  48. Forty-Five
  49. Forty-Six
  50. Forty-Seven
  51. Forty-Eight
  52. Forty-Nine
  53. Fifty
  54. Fifty-One
  55. Fifty-Two
  56. Fifty-Three
  57. Fifty-Four
  58. Fifty-Five
  59. Fifty-Six
  60. Fifty-Seven
  61. Fifty-Eight
  62. Fifty-Nine
  63. Sixty
  64. Sixty-One
  65. Sixty-Two
  66. Sixty-Three
  67. Sixty-Four
  68. Sixty-Five
  69. Sixty-Six
  70. Sixty-Seven
  71. Sixty-Eight
  72. Sixty-Nine
  73. Seventy
  74. Acknowledgments
  75. About the Author
  76. Praise for Destroy All Monsters
  77. Books by Sam J. Miller
  78. Back Ad
  79. About the Publisher

The morning hallway stunk of cinnamon, which meant that autumn was here, and Dunkin’ Donuts was selling Pumpkin Spice Everything, which meant that Hudson High would be full of hot, milky beverages. The smell, I didn’t mind. What bothered me was the herd mentality. The mandatory nature of the pumpkin spice latte. The way it was a status symbol, a way to say, Look at me, I have a car and drive myself to school and I can go out of my way to Dunkin’ Donuts and get a four-dollar coffee every morning.

Sure, it’s strange, but something that stupid could let the old darkness loose, tightening my chest and making it hard to breathe.

Hudson High is jam-packed with terrible triggers for my depression. Seeing all those unhappy kids crowded together. Watching the hundred different ways some people just couldn’t help but make others miserable, if not with their fists then with their words, or their clothes or their too-strong perfume or their costly caffeinated beverages.

Too many ways to end up less than.

Another hallway trigger: Solomon. Or rather, the lack of him. Looking for him and not finding him. He didn’t come to school every day. And when he did, he didn’t always stay.

The medication was helping me. I knew it. I felt it. I was already so much better. But the darkness was still there, a black frigid ocean I was precariously balanced above, and there was nothing like the halls of Hudson High to plunge me back in.

So I did what I do whenever I feel that way: I took out my camera. When the world feels like too much, looking through the lens helps me break it down into manageable pieces.

Reality is messy. Reality is horrible. My camera allows me to make something out of that chaos. Something beautiful.

I took a couple pictures of people with their Styrofoam cups. Then I swung by the cafeteria, where they were still serving breakfast for five more minutes. I took a couple pictures of the cafeteria workers, one of whom flashed the most beautiful smile you ever saw. Then the bell for first period rang.

“Thanks.” I waved to them, then made my way to homeroom.

People are what inspire me, as a photographer. I’m not so into landscapes or pretty geometry or action shots. Every time I took a picture of someone, I could feel it, sense it, just out of reach—the things I needed to capture. The story I needed to tell.

The project that would get me the hell out of Hudson.