Friday, 20 March 2015

Lunch break

She leant back into the rain-specked anoraks and scarves, hoping their clammy embrace would swallow her up. Banish her from the world of malicious notes slipped into her bag, vicious taunts, barbed comments and public humiliation. 

The playground was too open. The library too obvious. The toilets downright dangerous.

Why had they singled her out with their sharp tongues and sharper nails? Why take out time from bikeshed snogging, smoking and carving boyfriends’ names into their arms to make her life a misery? Though dumpy and unkempt, there was nothing obvious about her to put the invisible “Kick Me” sign on her back - just some literary pretensions and words beyond the accepted vocabulary of conformist teenhood.

She put pen to paper. Words would wreak her revenge, long from now, when her tormentors had grown beyond teenage spite. Her bullies had given her a gift, which she would upwrap slowly and nurture until it bloomed to success whilst they lamented in regrets and reliving High School glories. 

The bell jangled through her thoughts, signaling the end of lunch break. Her heart thumped in her ears, she took a deep breath and prepared for Double Maths and Malice.

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