“Hey, Alison,” I hear a faint voice say.
“Oh look, it’s Miss Perfect on the ground.” I can hear the voices getting louder and louder, commenting on me. Then my eyes start to slowly open. It is blurry, and I can barely see the people hovering over me, although I can feel the embarrassment getting to me; it is like I am getting hunted down by someone.
Suddenly, I feel a tight grip on my hand, lifting up all my sore weight. Then, I hear cheering and clapping. I don’t understand, nor do I see. Every little thing is either blurry or an incorrect colour.
“It’s okay,