The Wicked Booger

It was the same old boring day at school. No rain for weeks despite it being monsoon season, dams had dried up, as I had seen for myself last week at a wedding venue on the Mangla dam. One unlucky time of life it was for me, this year, 2015 it was, I had lost all hope that this year was going to get any better, which later turned in my favor quite rarely.

Everyone was irritated and balmy in that scorching heat under the bright sun. There was dust everywhere in the ground as some boys played football and others ran around after one another coughing and playing around. Some students had their faces covered while some were busy putting on sun creams. It smelled of sweat as we all lined up to get back to our classes and continue our ghastly day. After two classes in the stuffy classroom with the same old teachers that I hated, it was finally time to get outside and do some sports. Or maybe not in our case as I sat with my friends in the classroom since it was too tiring to play with the snobby girls and that too in that burning heat wave... lucky were the boys who would fight over a match of cricket and settle back down with their overflowing energies drained unlike us poor girls who were too conservative about playing out and about and having pools of sweat under our armpits, stuck in the routine of getting bored and jealous of one another, pretending to be friends and getting that energy out by fighting rebelliously ending up with scratches and again pretending to have done it playfully as friends. I hated it when someone touched me let alone hit or pinch me 'playfully'. But again out of such boredom I had to agree on playing yassu panju with my stupid friends or else I'd be left out as always and called 'the sensitive one' and 'cry baby'.

It was a game in which you are supposed to defend your hands from getting slapped by the opponent by sliding them in the opposite direction or else guess what you get slapped by every player one by one....as hard as they want. For some unfortunate reason I had these jangli* friends who always wanted to play such mindless games where you can tease or hit the other person and quite inevitably I always sucked at these. Here I was again being laughed at as my hairy hands turned red and then white as everyone slapped them. I seriously hated it when this moron in our group tried to get close to my 'friend' (who had problems with me hanging out with other girls while she herself could add as many friends to the groups as she liked just because she had this bossy personality). Anyway I hated it when this other girl always tried to get clingy with her only to make me feel worthless and ignored. And now it was her turn to hit me, sitting there laughing like a maniac at my blushed cheeks and watery eyes, making fun of my very hairy hands and not only those it was surprising for them to see I had hair on the top part of my fingers. This was not the first time tough having made fun of my hands and to be honest I didn't really feel shameful but deep down it felt weird to be the weird one. We had no AC's in the classroom and I had no food in my stomach. It was bad. Real bad. I was enraged at everyone and so I landed a punch on this girl's thigh. Lets call her Wicked Booger. And you ask me why I did that? well because she her other booger friend sat behind me and my friend and kicked our chairs all day, wrote stuff on my shoulders, tickled me which I honestly never enjoyed, and now she was hitting me twice with her small hands and dirty nails because according to her I tried to get my hand away even after she touched it so she gets to hit me twice. This turned into a fight of course, here my friend is just laughing and the other two girls and I are hitting each other and bad mouthing and maybe laughing as well. This encounter included splashing of water and pushing bags away, again something I dreaded because I hate dirty bags. Okay I know I have a different way of looking at things... making a small fight into a big issue but that is how I am; weird and sensitive. soon enough the bell rang and it was time to leave the classroom and wait for our parents to pick us up. 

We had given each other several scratches but it wasn't a big deal, until this Wicked booger picked up a chair (I hope you already know she was a DUMB-ASS) and freaking pointed it towards me, scared as I was, I pushed another chair her way, making her drop that chair and maybe it hit her somewhere on the thigh again, and here she came at me, full of rage, both of us muttering words and screaming like maniacs and scratched her fingers rigorously on my right arm, knowing how much I hated it and ran outta the classroom. I had a bleeding arm.. okay maybe I am exaggerating but it had red spots of blood I assume. I didn't really take it into account that day nor later... but after a few  weeks and then months it had become a permanent scar. And the worst part is, nobody believes me when I tell them that the Wicked Booger did it to me. Maybe it gets better after a few more years? You never know.

*jangli: rebellious

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hey Guyysss, I am terribly sorry you had to read that stupid piece of writing by me. As you already must know I am PRETTY BAD at grammar let alone writing. But I hope you enjoyed this little story! This was not a completely true but yea I do have a scar from a friend of mine.