Young Writers discussion

I walk up to the black iron chairs and tables set up next to the campus library and Starbucks. Two other tables are occupied, students sitting together, having a smoke. I ignore the putrid smell and grab the first chair I see. They’re wondering why you’re sitting here in this weather, it says. Setting down my backpack, I pull out my phone, checking for any strayed messages. They’re all watching you. After a moment I place it on the coffee-stained table and, unbuttoning my backpack, pull out a sketchbook. They’ll think you’re showing off. Its cold out. Cold enough that students breathe come out in visible puffs as the laugh and talk. I tug my sweater sleeves to cover my exposed hands. Flipping through the book, I stop at a blank page, then reach into my bag again, this time searching for a pencil. Watch your back. I settle back, glancing at the view in front of me. A corner of the building next to me juts out forming an L shape, Starbucks lineups visible through the tall windows. They can see right through you. To the far left, a flock of students rush out of a turquoise and wood panelled building, modern and sleek. You’re out in the open.
I begin to sketch, glancing ever so often at the scene. People pass by. They must all be under thirty. Most hunch over, their backpacks weighting them down. They walk in groups of two or more, girls gossiping, boys guffawing about some thing or the other. They’re wondering why you’re sitting alone. They’ll know you don’t have many friends. Some make accidental eye contact with me as I scan the place. I blink rapidly and keep drawing. They judge you. They’ll think that you feel better than them. Someone will come up and spit. Look at you with scornful eyes. My heartbeat thuds at my chest. You’re attracting attention to yourself and you want it.My pencil falters, the lines aren’t straight. You’re trying to be cool. I clench and unclench my fist. You don’t want to just draw. I look up from my sketch. You want people to see you. My eyes flick around nervously. And they will. In a haste, I uncross my legs, stuff my book and pencils back into my bag. They’ll see you in a rush. I straighten myself slowly, taking deep shaky breaths and look around. A mass of students exit from one building to the other, laughing, chatting, shouting. They are one. You stand out. You’re like a red flag. Get down form your pedestal. I strap on my backpack and walk down to the paved road, eyes cast down. Walk somewhere like you have a purpose, they’ll know you’re wandering and pity you. I lift my eyes to the Student Centre and adjusts my shoulders. Walk casually. I thrusts my hands into my jacket pockets. Blend in. I blend in.

I love this. So well written. And also gahh feels.

Sam~~ we cannot see the moon, and yet the waves still rise~~ wrote: "I love this. So well written. And also gahh feels."

Thank you! Means a lot :)

This is so cool, I love how you smoothly depict the inner voice. It almost makes me uncomfortable because I can relate all too well. Great writing :)

Maya wrote: "This is so cool, I love how you smoothly depict the inner voice. It almost makes me uncomfortable because I can relate all too well. Great writing :)"

Thank you! Haha, sorry ;P