Story of the scenery
*doesn't know how to work LJ cuts... shit... this will take for some trial and error methinks... hopefully I've got it right cos I sure as hell don't want to write out this whole entry again... oooh, maybe i should save it... good plan :D
A dull thud and sickening crunch as the body hits the pavement.
A scream breaks the silence, tearing through the tension as if it were paper.
Not a soul goes to the side of the young boy, his vital signs are not checked, the ambulance is called far too late.
Completely unremarkable; while he was not hated the boy was never to be seen at parties, protests, club meetings, even the weekly post-sociology pub mission.
No one was willing to admit that they did not know him at all, were barely able to recall meeting or sharing classes with him.
In life the boy was a nonentity, simply another blurred face, barely distinguishable from the colour and background noise that was the rest of the world. The absence of his story was so complete, and so daunting that one had to be created.
Students surmised uncertainly that he was quietly intelligent, rarely a bad word for anyone and unwilling to make a fuss.
Teachers concluded that he suffered from depression, had become overwhelmed by the stress and isolation of first year university and blamed themselves for not percieving the signs earlier.
While the day before his death he was unknown, many would have had difficulty distinguishing him from a lamp post, before long he had become a symbol. To the students he was a warning, those in the crowd promised themselves that they would be known, remembered and safe. To teachers, a wake up call, staring blankly at the body, swore that never again would a student sink so low without their knowledge.
As the eyes of the boy glazed over, an ambulance sounded in the distance.
The crowd sagged; the show, as it were, was over.