Teenage sensitivity

It had been a long day and the girl was tired. A buzz of a fly droned in her ears irritating and insistent like the voices that continued to play on her mind. Enemies had become confidantes, as friends had become enemies through the misunderstandings of teenage sensitivity. A single action, all too familiar from the millions of times she had replayed it to herself, was etched on her mind like the way a bright light stays on your eyelids when they shut.
She dragged her feet towards the hall, half thankful to be heading towards a distraction from her personal problems. The new year had brought on yet another rut to become stuck in. Somehow her never ending pattern of thoughts had created another cryptic evil. Friends’ comments were suddenly meaningful, hurtful and aggressive. Words that were once taken lightly had pierced through some sort of sensitivity barrier and now all hell had broken loose within.
The day had begun early as usual, the sky was dark and the wet grass clung to her school shoes then fell off in defeated clumps on the gum ridden carpets. Her mind was drifting off to the dreams cleverly hidden in last nights net of innocence. Last night everything was normal but the morning brought with it a fresh mind that deciphered other peoples words all too well. This did not become a problem until recess, where a time to calm down was becoming a place where she felt frustrated and increasingly worryingly, angry.
The boy approached her with a casual, disarming smile upon his face. The girl’s eyes moved away but not quick enough. He approached in his confidant, sleazy step without bothering to say hello or any other form of humane greeting. Instead, he patted her on the backside with a casual laugh and walked a few steps before turning back. What he saw froze his cocky grin. She had reached breaking point and pure, unadulterated anger hung like an aura over her face. The girl next to her, previously a best friend, but under these circumstances an alien enemy, called out, “ There’s lover boy. “
What had begun as a small annoyance had grown to a lethal, tumorous hatred inside her. However she was not the victim of this growth any more. She was not the object of its unrestrained aggression. The stick was right beside her hand, in a flash gripped tightly by another mind. The mind so worn down by supposedly meaningless harassment that it had become ultra sensitive. The stick hit its target with stunning accuracy and the small graze on the boy’s forehead was like a paracetamol to a headache. She turned and walked away, head down, as shocked eyes darted from the silent boy to her back.
The growth began again by that afternoon. A different type however. This one was a tangle of guilt and confusement. Although she had confronted those who had unknowingly given her such distress, she had still lost.
Lost against her own mind.