A Solitary Lunchtime

This piece was written when I was in Year 13 at Northallerton College. In perfect honesty, I did not have a fantastic time there. It was very stifled time for me, and I found myself wandering around alone most lunchtimes. Partly because I couldn't find anyone I wanted to hang out with and partly because I quite enjoyed being on my own. And one lunchtime I bought my lunch and then settled down under a tree with a lovely aspect over the field. And this is what I saw, this is what I wrote. Enjoy.

Small clusters of friends lounging in the sun, couples entwined together - close, affectinate, the odd kiss, staring into each other's eyes, holding hands. Laughs from the groups fill the field like a coloured gas entering a bottle - contagious and beautiful. The latest songs pulse along the streams of wind from a car stereo. Summer at college is a heart - a beating sensation of thrill and friendship. How could someone not look at this sight and not smile? Not enjoy themselves? Not wonder at the power that goes hand in hand with the union of friends and summer?
     Two boys, well, two young men, kick a ball, a girl puts on an over-sized pair of sunglasses. A larger group of students, male of course, kick a ball about. The intention of the activity is difficult to make out. Does it need a purpose? Of course not. It's there to bond them whilst girls chat and listen to a musical student strum the intros to songs on a guitar. A frisbee game starts between two girls - the yellow disc soaring on the wind and the falling to the floor or into the hands of the addressee, mostly the former, but again, that doesn't matter. Why should it when a strengthened friendship is the result? Usually, more people would have joined in by now. It's not the in-thing this lunchtime. The game resembling football has, however, grown, with more competitive males.
     Sparkling teeth, heavenly giggles and eyes with the fond creases of a good time. It's beautiful and perfectly life-affirming. Life is an amazement at times like this. There is good in the world.
     A-ha! New additions to the game of frisbee. The guitar becomes a subject of conversation between the original player and another musically-talented student. Cameras click, capturing a single moment in the summer haven forever. Comments on the photographs are expressed: groans and denials, and laughter and expression of splendor.
     But whatever, the field, in short, permeates with love, life and laughter. Games, giggles and gossip take place here. The field in summer is a symbol, standing for fun, friendship and family.

Underneath a tree sits a lonely observer. Armed with paper and a pen, he scribbles down all he sees, all he hears, all he senses. His friends are around somewhere, but he's happy writing of the happiness of others in the shade of the towering tree. Sure he's not interacting with his peers, he's not enjoying the pleasures of relations, but he's happy. Who is the solitary spectator? He is a writer, practicing his work on description, but he's forgotten to describe smells. Oh well. It doesn't matter. It's still a good piece of work, considering his description work has been weak. But it's good. He is pleased. Who is he? Why, he's me.

I've had to just type that out from a piece of paper I found, and as I did so I realised how rubbish it is. I don't like it.