It's Way Too Late To Blog On A School Night.

It's a competition between me and you, boy. It's survival of the fittest: the last one standing after torturous arguments and mockery is the winner of our little game.

I smirked, just as you'd lifted your head in awe of what I'd said. Your mouth hung open, and words struggled to follow your shallow, tired breathing. You weren't quick enough to make a comeback. However, instead of finding words to rebut me, you struck your palm onto your chest, as if you had taken an invincible blow from me; a bullet at landed straight into your heart, and you struggled to keep the blood from splurting out. A pained expression enveloped your face, and I laughed. You looked so clumsy, your legs were splayed out in an awkward position, and you held yourself up by the palm of your hand, whilst holding your heart in the other.

I win.

I plomped myself down where I was; my back was turned away from you. I was smug; I laughed into my knees as I carefully curled myself into a balanced ball, hugging my legs into my body for warmth. Suddenly, I was overwhelmingly tired. My victory hadn't been without its consequences. The unyielding thoughts that I'd continued to conjure up to fight against you, and the long, torturous verbal battle between us had me mentally drained. Not to mention, I think my voice was also dying. I relaxed for a moment, and I closed my eyes. I let my mind relax, and wander into a wonderland that wasn't quite what I'd expected.

Smack. You had kneed me in the head, and knocked me out of my being Alice in Wonderland dream. I lurched forward as I took the hit, losing balance of my perfect little ball. I hurriedly unwrapped my arms around my body, but I wasn't fast enough to support my fall, and I landed heavily in a messed heap on the ground. I groaned slightly at the pain, but I quickly exchanged my surprised expression to a composed, but obviously annoyed face, and I turned to glare at you.

Your eyes were widened, and I'd heard you gasp slightly. Your hands were up in the air you'd been caught red-handed; and that, you were. Immediately you rushed towards me to help me, but I'd already gotten myself up when you'd reached me. You gave me your hand, but I pushed it away, still glaring at you. You insisted that it was an accident, and your face showed concern, and even innocence. It was something I did not understand, for I was convinced that you'd attempted to hurt me on purpose, and I persued my point, regardless of truth.

Liar! I'd attempted to return the favour by aiming for your stomach, but you swiftly caught my fist and pulled it to the side. I couldn't escape from your iron grip, and I stared at you in an annoyed mood for a while. You stared back, saying over the words 'it was an accident'. I frowned at you, and, upon noticing that you'd relaxed your grip on my hand, I went for the gut again. But you held steadfast to my fist. Once more, you repeated your line, slowly and sternly, as if you were disciplining a child. For a short while, we glared at each other.

Soon enough, you let go of my fist, and I walked away, with the tragedy of defeat in my mind.

Why did you get my weakness for?

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I used to lack one, and only had time for another. Now, I have the other.. but my heart burns for what I used to have. But I keep telling myself, maybe it's better that it's this way. Maybe we can be so much more as friends.

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I really should sleep. So tired!

LOL, Sarah.