Disasterology

Hid behind a swarm of people leaving the class, laughing, talking, I exhale. Though, why bother?  Nobody sees me anymore anyway. I could walk through on my hands and the entire class would look through me as usual. 

I stemmed the blood from my eyebrow with my sleeve, wincing as the contact send a stab of pain through the open wound.  Every part of me is a open wound, these days.  The red bloomed on the white like a rose, vivid and determined. Then, I pressed onto my next class, wondering all the while.  Through the white noise that is my classmates, I  had noticed two boys, sat side by side, scuffling with the grace of a bull in a china shop and no intent to harm in the slightest.  Even as I watched, the teacher broke them up, and they instantly went back to chattering about a girl they both appeared to know. I pitied her. She was being decimated over there, her every flaw ripped open for the world to see.  And then I see the girl turn, smile, flip long blonde hair over her shoulder.  I turned away. This was private, channelled longing for him.  And then, it hit  me like a physical jolt. The boy to the left had noticed me- he was the presence in the hall.

My chest hurt from suppressing tears, and my fingers automatically played with the hem of my t-shirt,  trailing pressure along the bruise I knew resides there.  My thoughts whirled. How had I not noticed him before? More importantly, how had he noticed me? 

The End

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