seven

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in complete honesty, maya's day could not have been worse.

stuck training a new and arrogant employee, her shift had been long and tolling. folding boxes and cooking pizzas at a low-end pizza joint on the outer suburbs was unsatisfactory work in itself, but having an overconfident and obnoxious sixteen year-old chatting her ear off for nearly six hours had her ready to stick her own head inside the pizza oven. at least it would have been quiet. to make matters worse, she had locked her keys inside of her apartment, and had to call melanie to come and let her inside with her spare key. and the cherry on the cake, she had managed to spill scalding tea over not only her entire front, but also onto her fairly new notebook.

the only upside to her day seemed to be the poetry slam she was attending later that night. maya had been writing since she could remember, from little comics as a small child, to more evolved stories and ideas as she matured into adolescence. all the emotions she couldn't seem to express, she let run wild in her writing. although she had never participated in the slams, she was much too shy, and her writing was more focused on short stories then spoken poetry, she had always enjoyed attending and listening.

she took in the darkened atmosphere of the amphitheatre, pulling her navy sweater closer into herself as she seated herself near a middle row, flipping through the now darkened and wrinkled pages of her notebook. she had come into the habit of documenting the poetry she heard at these events, noting down the ideas and emotions the authors displayed in hopes to spark inspiration for a story of her own.

maya crossed her legs, sitting pin-straight as she adjusted her notebook to a comfortable position on her lap, observing the audience. she noticed a few familiar faces, authors who came and performed regularly, or other audience members hidden amongst the dark seats. despite herself, she found herself looking over each face, searching, and cursing herself upon the disappointment she felt.

for the past few weeks, she had caught herself consistently looking through crowds in search of calum. wether it be at work, on the bus home, or sitting in a café, she nearly always seemed to scour the area for tattoed arms and a head of brown hair. she didn't exactly understand why, it's not that she had expected him to suddenly show up in all areas of her life, or even that she really wanted to see him again. she wouldn't know what to say, or how to act. how do you act around someone you've nearly slept with, then ditched in the morning?

however, despite her nerves, maya still felt drawn to him. he had been so kind, and truthful and funny. he had made her feel comfortable, and content, if for a short time, two things she rarely seemed to come across these days. she was plagued by an immovable curiosity, she needed to know more about him.

as the lights dimmed and the show commenced, maya could still feel thoughts of calum swirling around in the back of her head, although she could ignore them now, her attention focused on the authors onstage. she admired the speakers, for how strongly they could portray their thoughts and opinions, while still maintaining fluidity and raw emotion throughout their writing. she had heard many stories, of heartbreak and growth, of abuse and hardship, of love and satisfaction, and had written every one inside her little blue notebook. she had never failed to be impressed when she attended these events, especially on saturday nights, where there was often the biggest turn-out.

seeing as each speaker took their turns walking the small three steps up to centre stage, maya could not help but feel a tad of envy. her mother had always held a disdain for her writing, and showed no subtlety or sensitivity in regard to her feelings for it. she had always insisted maya attend university and follow in her sisters footsteps, pursuing a career in medicine or engineering. she believed maya's writing was a silly hobby, and a waste of precious time and youth.

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