Watching Fireworks Fly

Bonfire Night was not the waste of time I had expected it to be. It
started off badly, ?4! And the first person I saw was a girl I hate
more than anyone has hated anyone before. Her name is Gemma and her
face is like the smell of burning gas. I chose my firework watching
position as far away from her as possible, but I could still see her in
the distance. I like watching fireworks but couldn't help but think
that sometimes it would be nice if they went astray. I stood and
watched the fireworks, and as they were banging their last bang and the
bonfire was on its last sizzle I looked around at the people who
surrounded me -little kids messing about, lovers entwined, groups of
friends laughing. All of them a million miles away from my life. I
looked at the various groups for a long time, watching them enjoy
themselves until I saw a face in the distance that was also alone. It
was Anya.

Anya was continually the source of my teenage angst and continues to
be beyond. I've known her since Primary School and because of our
surnames - Anya Morrison and Will Noone, we sat next to each other in
the alphabet dominated classroom. It was the start of the long running
hatred I had for Gemma because she came to our school later on and so
sat between us, smelling of verrucas. But for a while I was in seven
year olds heaven. I thought she was the prettiest girl in the school
but she only came third in the league we did at playtime. I would have
married her there and then if it had been legal and if she'd given her
consent. I grew up wishing she was ugly, because then not so many
people would have wanted her attention and affection and I would have
got her all to myself. Her sense of humour, her luminous glow and fresh
outlook on life eluded all that did no more than stare. All those pure
parts about her would still be there without her Supermodel good looks
and I could picture myself with her if she was not so pretty, I would
not always look and feel inferior, as I can't help but do every time
I'm stood near her. I like to boast that, unlike most people, I fancied
her before her tits got big. I suppose a good thing about me is that
nobody is going to want me for my scruffy unkempt hair, my skinny puny
body or my unexciting face. People would want me for who I am -a nice
enough 20 year old who is slightly obsessed with music and idling his
life away.

It was while looking at Anya that I decided I needed to get my life
moving. Simply looking at her makes my heart beat at twice the speed
and fireworks fly across the sky, in the case of Bonfire Night
literally. I looked at myself and saw the pathetic figure I was turning
into. Due to circumstances possibly beyond my control I was turning
into a bit of a loser. With the bang of a rocket in the sky I snapped
myself out of the zombie that I had turned myself into. The zombie who
was obsessed with a girl, who was unable to shake off names he'd been
called in the school playground. The zombie who was losing all his
friends and couldn't be bothered to get any new ones. I needed one of
the rockets flying across the sky to go up my backside so that I would
move myself. I needed a good woman to give me a big kick up the arse,
but like everything else I had to do it to myself. The childhood name
calling is self explanatory and it goes hand in hand with my hatred for
Gemma. I can still remember the dread I felt at playtime. Most people
could take being called names, but I couldn't. When she told me I was
the ugliest boy she had ever seen I believed it. She ruined me, or at
least I ruined myself by not spitting in her face in reply. From the
age of 12 until Bonfire Night aged of 20, Gemma made me miserable. But
now I decided that had to stop.