Late Night Scribbling.

Sometimes she wonders if she is the only one.

The morning felt almost wet despite the lack of rain, and the expanse of the field glistened like a green ocean from where the lone figure sat huddled on the damp bleachers. She wore a long coat which she hugged close to her frame, hiding the freshly ironed school uniform she wore beneath.

Class wouldn’t start for at least another two hours. There wasn’t a soul on school grounds she was sure. But at least the field was always lighted. She had counted on that when slipping out at 4 in the morning. It was becoming a normal routine now. As was the yelling and arguing that had many times become her alarm clock at home.

It was not only until plates began to shatter and furniture was thrown about that she decided to no longer have a part in the chaotic orchestra that was her broken family. Countless times before she had sat at this very spot at such an unearthly hour unable to stop the quiet stream of tears that kept spilling from her eyes. But there were no more tears now. She was just empty. Refusing the misery and yet unable to lift the burden from her heart. Past the point of feeling guilty, past the point of feeling shame, she felt suffocated and hollow.

She heard a low rumbling from a distance, like a vehicle approaching.  This was new to her. She pulled in closer to herself, feeling a rush of panic. Half her body wanted to sprint, while the more rebellious part of her willed her to stay.  The rumbling ceased. And there was silence for a few minutes. She held her breath.

From the edge of the stands she saw a figure approach. He was wearing a helmet, and to her surprise, the stranger, like her, was dressed in the standard school attire.  She remained unnoticed as he made his way up the bleachers in a slow trudge. The figure gradually removed his headgear as he continued to climb. And then suddenly he looked up, catching her eyes. A wave of panic struck the young girl before a second wave of sympathy overtook her. The young boy, had blood shot eyes. And there were still telltale tear marks that ran down his cheeks. 

She couldn’t look away, recognizing her own misery in this strange boy’s eyes. He too remained static. There was no malice between them, just a silent understanding. It seemed like forever before he resumed to climb, taking residence next to her. Strange that she felt completely safe and welcoming towards this boy she knew nothing about.They were silent, the girl huddled in her coat, and the boy bent over, with his face in his palm.

Then quietly rummaging for her mp3 she extended an earphone to him, fixing one to her own frostbitten ears before commencing to play a song too upbeat for the occasion. Without a word he followed suit. They sat there, eyes closed, not really hearing the music, but inwardly thankful for the unexpected company. Neither imagining the other to be thinking,

So maybe i’m not the only one..

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