Creative Writing

One’s Perspective


He seems so different. Almost peculiar. Yet, for some reason my eyes continue to flicker into his direction. He’s branded as the “odd one” from the upper sixth, but really, he appears to be quite sane. Delicately he weaves his hands from his coffee to his pen; he is writing rather a lot. Nobody ever talks to him. I guess that’s because he speaks Portuguese. Danny and Maddy pass him without even registering his existence. It’s like his body becomes part of the common-room, molded into the background. He never shows that he cares, not that anybody would be looking anyway. But I am.

As he looks down at his notebook, his crisp brown hair covers his tanned olive skin. In a way he was rather handsome. Not in a stereotypical way, though. He seemed to juxtapose against the rest of the room; there was nobody quite like him. I hug Katie, my best friend, before getting-up and going to class.

“Um, Leila, yes? We do, um, mathematica juntos.” Says the shadow behind me.

I turn around to find Bruno pointing at himself and then at me. He was attempting interaction, and there’s me holding a stifling number of notes, a handful of orange peel, and a now very red face to match his jumper. Fumbling to exasperate some sort of communication, I mutter gibberish. I am the one who can speak my own language, why can’t I say something half intelligent.

“Hello,” is all I can manage.


Why is she staring so oddly? I don’t understand these, what do you call them. Oh yes, veganos, vegans. Do they like meat at all, or is it a strange concept? Does she want to eat me? I don’t understand this girl. She is confusing me a lot. I feel like I am being watched by many hundreds of eyes. Bruno does not like this sort of atenção. So strange. She is beautiful but weirdly attentive with her eyes. Her friend though is something so hot, hotter than the paprika on my sandwich. I wouldn’t mind them both, hmm, yes. I shall write that down on my notes for later.

How is she even eating that hummus-dish? I can smell it from here, and it is disgusting. A note suddenly appears, it reads Bruno, leia agora. How offensive of Danny, I can understand “read now,” it doesn’t have to be in Portuguese. Looking down into my lap written is, “Leila would have sexo with you.”

Ah, so this is why she is staring so much. She can’t have normal meat so, she shall have mine instead. Perfeito. Leila can have as much as she desires. Vegan and meat-eaters can live side-by-side. I feel so much better about the world already. Time to make my move.

“Um, Leila, yes? We do, um, mathematica juntos.” I say, my voice purposefully deep.

She turns to face me and goes an extravagant vermelho ketchup colour. Orange peels slowly drop from her hand. I know what I can re-place that veganos food with: my meat! Maybe it was the amount of cabbage that she eats, but her eyes glowed green.

“Hello,” she says sweetly. So different, yet so similar to people like me. How refreshing.


The common-room is as dull as my face without any sparkles. There has to be something interesting to do here. Glancing around the room I try to spot any new cute guys, anything pretty to look at to get me through free period.

“Oh my god, Maddy, can you see Leila staring at Bruno? How fabulous.” Maddy flips her hair and giggles like a twelve-year old girl.

“I can indeed. Too bad Danny, you thought Bruno was gorgeous as well.”

I flash her a scowl. It is so hard to be gay when you’re surrounded by a pond of very, very straight males. Grunting, I tear a page from my biology textbook, and begin to write my magic.

“Danny, you’re not actually going to stir like that are you? You know too well that Bruno is a greasy hipster, looking for anything with a pulse that will come near him.”

“Yeah, I get that Mads, but it brings me one step to closer to Mr. Mysterious, and Leila gets the attention she oh-so-craves!”

My heart begins to race, my head goes dizzy. Passing by I slip Bruno the note. Oh, how we contrast. He seems not to care.


About Author

Sophie Langridge

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September 2021
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