Evan Brough

I made my way to the back of the class as usual. I sit down on the seat, not even bothering to note that I was the only person sitting alone.   Our teacher stood at the front of the room, drawling on in the way that only she could, as the rest of the pupils looked with bored faces - not daring to talk. 

I didn't mind the quietness; in fact, I was used to it. I spent the lesson people watching out onto the streets and thinking about my life: as usual.

A man in a grey suit walked past, briefcase in hand. My guess was that he was a reporter - there was a tell tale dent in the right sleeve of his jacket (a hidden microphone).

The next person to walk past was a builder. How do I know? His rough, calloused hands were twitching - looking for something to build / sculpt. The bottom of his denim jeans had picked up some dust - most likely from a saw.

My eyes unfocused as I lost concentration. The world faded out.

*   *   *   *   *

I saw myself as I had always: alone.

My mum and dad ignored me, but it hasn't always been like that. They used to take me to places, fend for me, talk to me. Now they saw me as a passed trend, a trinket that was best left up in the attic.

After they became bored with me, they moved on to other collectables: dogs, china plates, antique chairs. The list never seemed to end.

I knew that everyone's parents weren't like that. I saw how spoilt they were - how much they were cared for by others. I didn't have that same safety, any warmth to go home to at night.

All I longed for was a normal family. One that cared. It seemed it was too much to ask for from my parents.

I sighed silently and wished the minutes away until I could leave the room and go home. To hide in the attic among the piles or rubbish like I deserved.

*   *   *   *   *

As the bell went, I wished for the last time, that I would at least have a friend to talk to.

The End

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