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Sitting In Lunch

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Sitting at lunch I look at all the random faces in the crowd.
All the ear ringing chatter of random conversations.
Mostly about how school sucks or their plan for after the day ends.

Very little intellectual conversations go on in the cafeteria.
My a** is sore from the plank of ply-wood that they call a bench and
I’m trying to find one single appetizing thing on my lunch tray,
But that dream has never been found.

I sit alone,
I always sit alone
Monday
Tuesday
Wednesday
Thru Friday
Always alone
But I like it that way.
It allows me to be lost in the thoughts of my own mind.
It’s a quite quiet place to be, peaceful and plentiful

I look around for an easy victim.
Anyone that has left something for me to take or mess with,

At the table three rows away, straight in front of me
I feel the excitement in me rise
A boy has set his fruit punch red Gatorade down without a cap.
I feel the excitement in me rise
He’s lost in an argument about the NFL or something.
But he’s getting so mad I can hear his frustration through the chaotic white noise of lunch.

I lift one finger,
I feel the excitement in me rise
Feel the rush of power flow from my core to my hand,
Hardly even looking at the bottle,
I feel a slight tingle in my hand,
Send out my power and
then launch the open Gatorade at his white t-shirt.
Messing with kids at lunch is the only safe practice I get now and days.
I’m almost guaranteed not to get spotted.
Plus it’s entertaining to watch their faces fill with confusion,
Not seeing how such a thing is possible
Not knowing I’m the only one who can make such things possible.


I watch him freak out,
and I am filled with a slight satisfaction that I ruined his argument, t-shirt, and day.





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