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 ^{(it's beta!)}

Oh my god.

Ew.

This is how God repays me for my life long service as a magnificent Samaritan to this broken country? This is the token of gratitude I get for my never-ending effort regarding all the aid I contribute to others towards recovery through all of their turmoil?

This?

A God-forsaken wod of boiled sweets stamped on the bottom of my Luella shoes after Jake sacked me off for ginger fringe with the funny walk.

Oh my god.

But, here I am, not complaining, silently sniffing into my comfort food whilst the woman in front of me with an odd old person’s aroma spits on my tears.

I mean, she isn’t actually spitting on my tears because they have a CCTV camera and anyway I look shitting scary in my badass blackcurrant hard-boiled sweet covered stilettos.. which I sort of realise she has picked up on because she is now looking at me like I’ve stuck the heel through the window.

But anyway.. she was mentally spitting upon my sorrow. With her flailing limbs and her boiled sweets and big eyes I have to feel sorry for her and smile even though my life is falling apart and she just ruined my favourite shoes probably on purpose- you may think I’m being paranoid here but you really cannot always tell. She may have some unspoken mutiny with youths like myself (the ones who wear nice shoes) and she might have seen it only her duty to spit on the floor for my babies to stamp on. She well did it on purpose.

No really.

And my life is falling apart by the way. Her problems just couldn’t compare.

Oh and also did you know that this woman knows my mum? I didn’t either. Apparently she does though which is even more perfect because I have to pretend I care about the M&S cardigan she bought on sale today made from 100% cotton whilst forcing my face into a smile that doesn’t scream “KILL ME NOW.”

So, as I was saying.. I’m sat here. On the train. Surrounded by sweaty football fans of which I (cunningly) beat to get this seat. I say cunningly but it wasn’t because I’m 5ft 1 so I like crawled through them, but honestly, that really is not the point right now.

You see, the point is I am 16 years old, sat on a train sniffing and sniffing over these bloody shoes and this bloody boy and a bloody girl with a bloody stupid walk. Why? - I hear you ask. Well, I will tell you now-

Because he gave her his scarf last night! And she took it. And then they walked and joked and he laughed and she snorted and they laughed together and it echoed and echoed and hopefully sent an avalanche of bricks on top of her and killed her but I didn’t stick around to see because I had just seen the love of my life with my mortal enemy and the world was beginning to make little sense.