Quietly Dying
Created | Updated Jan 28, 2002
Hannah sat in the corner of the playground, eyes to the tarmac, as the other children played. It wasn't surprising, she never felt like playing on a good day, and today was not a good day.
Anne walked over, swinging her rucksack in her hand. It was made of canvas; Anne secretly hated it, but Hannah secretly wished it was hers.
"You feeling bad again?" asked Anne.
Swing.
Swing.
Swing.
Anne's bag swung from her hand, backwards and forwards, making Hannah dizzy as she followed it with her dark eyes.
"Uh-huh," she managed.
Swing.
Swing.
Swing.
Anne sighed. "Get better soon," she said, and ran over to where Amy and Greg were waiting for her. Hannah had never talked to Greg, but she could tell that he liked Anne. Hannah was good at picking that kind of thing up. It wasn't surprising, anyway. Anne was stunningly beautiful; she was tall, thin and willowy, with shimmering blonde hair and crystal blue eyes. Hannah always felt confused when she looked at Anne, and then herself in the mirror.
Swing.
Swing.
Swing.
Hannah watched as Anne went to talk to her friends.
Swing, swing, swing. Hannah was sitting at the park bench, staring at the grass in the same manner she had stared at the tarmac, trying not to see Anne talking to Amy and Greg as she swang on the swings which were much too small for them all. Wishing she could go and talk to them. But she felt so sick, she didn't want to get up now. She didn't know why she'd come out; maybe it was the masochist in her.
Anne was more beautiful than ever, and Greg's appreciation of it showed in his face. No more school tarmac for them. School grass now. Seniors now. Seniors for a long time, actually, year 10. Hannah hadn't really thought about it.
Swing.
Swing.
Swing.
Hannah felt a violent urge inside of her; to run up and push Anne right off that swing. But she knew she couldn't do it, mentally as well as physically.
Swing.
Swing.
Swing.
Hannah wondered what had happened to Anne's bag. She supposed she had got rid of it before she went to seniors. She'd never really thought about it, more concerned with fitting in. Like that had worked.
Anne walked over, swinging her rucksack in her hand. It was made of canvas; Anne secretly hated it, but Hannah secretly wished it was hers.
"You feeling bad again?" asked Anne.
Swing.
Swing.
Swing.
Anne's bag swung from her hand, backwards and forwards, making Hannah dizzy as she followed it with her dark eyes.
"Uh-huh," she managed.
Swing.
Swing.
Swing.
Anne sighed. "Get better soon," she said, and ran over to where Amy and Greg were waiting for her. Hannah had never talked to Greg, but she could tell that he liked Anne. Hannah was good at picking that kind of thing up. It wasn't surprising, anyway. Anne was stunningly beautiful; she was tall, thin and willowy, with shimmering blonde hair and crystal blue eyes. Hannah always felt confused when she looked at Anne, and then herself in the mirror.
Swing.
Swing.
Swing.
Hannah watched as Anne went to talk to her friends.
Swing, swing, swing. Hannah was sitting at the park bench, staring at the grass in the same manner she had stared at the tarmac, trying not to see Anne talking to Amy and Greg as she swang on the swings which were much too small for them all. Wishing she could go and talk to them. But she felt so sick, she didn't want to get up now. She didn't know why she'd come out; maybe it was the masochist in her.
Anne was more beautiful than ever, and Greg's appreciation of it showed in his face. No more school tarmac for them. School grass now. Seniors now. Seniors for a long time, actually, year 10. Hannah hadn't really thought about it.
Swing.
Swing.
Swing.
Hannah felt a violent urge inside of her; to run up and push Anne right off that swing. But she knew she couldn't do it, mentally as well as physically.
Swing.
Swing.
Swing.
Hannah wondered what had happened to Anne's bag. She supposed she had got rid of it before she went to seniors. She'd never really thought about it, more concerned with fitting in. Like that had worked.
