Summary:

This is a story of imperfections; of a girl who avoids mirrors and wishes to be anyone but herself. Hidden among endless drawings of glorious and elegant faces, she lives in her boxed world, tormented by those above her. She recorded her tumultuous journey towards acceptance in tall, dusty stacks of journals so that one day she could look back and laugh. So far, that day hasn't come. AH/ OOC/ Romance & drama.


Ahoy there! Well, where to start? This is my first fan fiction ever, so I'd love to know what you guys think, but please be nice. I love to write and I finally gathered my wits and just wrote something for Bella and Edward. This is just the prologue, and if you like the short read R&R!

P.s. I'm just learning how to use all the fan fiction writing tools and formats, so bear with me if anything's a little wonky...

Thank you and enjoy!

-MissLetters


Prologue

My ears stick out too much.

My forehead is too big.

My cheekbones aren't high enough.

My skin breaks out too much.

My body is too plain.

My tits are small.

I'm much too short.

My eyebrows aren't even.

I have stretch marks.

My hair and eyes are too bland—no one ever bothered to classify brown as a pretty color.

Much the same way plain things were never meant to be beautiful. Even in nature the most appealing creatures are flamboyant and colorful. Take the peacock for example; the more rich in color and the bigger the male's tail is the more likely it is to attract a mate and live happily ever after until its dying day (well not exactly, but you get the idea). It pains me to say it but it's the same idea with high school boys. Only the roles have been reversed and we girls are oh, so very blessed with the part of the peacock. The more voluptuous our asses, hips and tits are the more likely it is a male will jerk off to our image, possibly ask us out on a date that would eventually lead to sex and a new life being expelled from our loins.

It is said that such qualities are attractive because they subconsciously represent a better chance of healthy offspring—good birthing hips to carry the child and larger breasts to keep it healthy, and let's not forget, and overall attractive appearance to improve the likelihood of reproduction of said child and thus, deter the human race from going extinct. So, it's no surprise that my gene bag has a big fat, "No improvement to humanity whatsoever. Do not approach." stamped all over it.

How did I come to this conclusion, you ask? Well the mirror has been quite adamant about making this point clear to me, but I tend to avoid them nowadays. My daily reports on just how shitty puberty played out for me now come from a certain model-faced, self-absorbed, rich, and egotistical asshole named Edward Cullen.