The room's packed and bustling. Some are dancing outrageously to the loud music. Some are drinking punch or eating chips. Some are laughing out loud and talking nonsense, not giving a damn about the world.
And then there's you.
You're seated at a lonely corner, accompanied by your close confidante -- a rather silly being who mirrors what you're doing. You're sitting rather stiffly, as if you're sitting on a rather hard chair. Your legs are crossed together, mirroring the seating style of a royal queen. Your crimson lips are curled into a nasty scowl. Your nostrils are flared in disgust, as though there's some foul odour lingering in the air.
Your hooded eyes fall on a girl giggling like a little schoolchild. Her hair is tied messily into a bun and she's wearing a sparkling little black dress. She's listening to a highly entertaining story told by a rather handsome young man, along with her group of friends.
"What does he see in them?" You inquire, your voice as cold as ice. "They are just a bunch of garish, unsophisticated girls, aren't they?"
"Of course," Your confidante agrees, mimicking the frostiness that your voice has. "Especially that deranged giggling wreck!"
She points her long finger at the girl with the little black dress, who's now messing the attractive young man's messy hair.
"Ha, I wonder whoever on earth invited that street urchin!" You smirk. "She has no class, no taste and she badly needs a skin treatment!"
"Not to mention," Your confidante intones. "A head-to-toe wax!"
"How right you are!" You say softly, your piercing (jealous) eyes on that happy girl. Your confidante, on the other hand, glows - she's delighted that you've appreciated her.
Both of you are silent. Your green-eyed gaze is following every move of that girl (who's talking and her friends are listening with rapt attention). Your confidante's stopped glowing and her eyes are flitting between you and the poor girl, in sheer confusion.
Finally, you break the silence.
"She's trying to act cool, eh?" You say, now smirking a bit in satisfaction. "Trying too hard, I must say!"
"Of course!" Your confidante nods. "Her head's too big, eh? I heard that she got an internship a few days ago."
"Internship, eh?" You say. "She's tittering because she got a job with a measly - oh correction: no - salary? Oh, dear!"
Everyone, including your confidante knows it that you had applied for the very same job but you lost out to her.
Everyone knows that you're jealous. Everyone knows that despite your cool exterior, you're clawing from inside. Everyone knows that you wish to be in her position -- happy, successful and lovable.
Yet, you demean her. You mock at her style. You snort in derision when you see her express her happiness.
But deep down, you know that you cannot be like her.
And unnecessarily criticizing her won't make you any better.