Ficly

From Across The Room

I sit on a dinky little plastic chair and sip on my plastic cup of Coke.

Everything in this party is plastic.
Plastic plates.
Plastic knives and forks.
Plastic platters.
Plastic everything.

I’m bored out of my skull.
I’m so bored, I imagine I look like a boring board of wood.
I’m so bored, I’m creating weird little analogies to keep myself mildly amused.

The music isn’t helping either. It’s all Lady GaGa and Dizzee Rascal and other crappy music.
I know that if I was the manager of this end-of-exam party, I’d be playing some proper 80’s dance music.

Cars.

Tainted Love.

Love Will Tear Us Apart.

None of this bloody Noughties rubbish.

Then I see her across the room.

The ebony hair with the blonde streak in it.

The perfect lips.

The dimpled face.

The non-slutty dress.

I see her…walk up to her sixth form boyfriend and plant a kiss on his cheek.

I was sure I was over her by now.

I was so, so sure.

But damn it, I’m still irrecovably in love with her.

And she will never, must never know…

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