A crowded hallway
full of groups of friends
talking, laughing, trusting.
One girl stands alone
with only a voice inside her head
to keep her company.

Walking, head bowed,
as if she carries
the weight of the world
upon her shoulders.
Whispers and glances follow
tracking her movements.

A foot sticks out
trips her,
laughter follows the fall,
horrible laughter
that hurts more than the impact.

All around her,
people stop, stare
and do nothing.
Why should they?
The girl knows all too well
no one really cares.

It's a game,
a game of charades,
a carefully woven tapestry of lies.
Nothing about them is real,
nothing about her is real.
Everyone wears masks.
That she is certain of.

Picking herself off the floor,
running from the deceptions,
bursting through the doors,
flying down the walk,
fast as she can.

No one cares.
No one notices,
but one small girl
hidden in the shadows.

She is there,
she knows everything,
knows the girl fleeing had watched her.
Seen her be humiliated, just weeks before.
Been there and done nothing.
Nothing, because she had been glad,
glad it was not her.

Almost to herself the watcher whispers,
“I am real.
Why aren’t you?”
And with that she follows.