Author's Note: So this is something I thought of while thinking of Marina and the Diamonds (Marina Diamandis is amazing, by the way). People regard her as having a very realistic, pessimistic, almost sadistic approach at things. I mean, her songs are just really brutally honest and harsh. As I thought of this, while listening to the song "Teen Idle" from Electra Heart, I thought of Cece and Ali.

So this is my one-shot no Cece and Ali. I hope you like it. It starts off in Cece's POV, then goes to Ali, then back and forth in the same order.

You stare at your reflection in the mirror. You wonder what it would be like to be a blonde.

What would it be like to possess the powers only those with a mane of golden hair have? What would it be like to be known as a heartbreaker, a narcissist, a sweetheart?

You stare at your own brown, bring locks of flat brown. You start feeling conned, like you should've always been a blonde.

You look to your own geeky, ugly picture from when you had been in the eleventh grade. You were the subject of much harassment, especially because of your preppy style back then and your thick, black framed glasses. You were a goody-two shoes back then. You had sleepovers with your textbooks. You had no boyfriends, and your best friend was your mom.

You snatch the picture, grabbing a lighter and quickly burn it into oblivion.

You look back up at your own reflection. Since then, the only thing that's stuck is the glasses. You scowl. You'd like to reinvent yourself entirely.

You snatch your glasses off of your face. As you look at the blurry reflection in the mirror, you start to see where you can improve.

Makeup. Start with makeup. You start to think of the ways you can fix the imperfections you were granted upon birth.

You sit up a little straighter, noting that your posture could use improvement. You purse your lips, hoping to make them look fuller. You make a mental note to improve your hair product and how you brush your hair.

You think about it. You think of how changed you'll be on the other side.

A smile begins to form on your lips.

You look behind you as the structure burns. Flames of brilliant hues of orange and red dance in your irises. You look at it in amazement.

On the other hand, you think to yourself What have I done?

You watch as a girl, about as innocent as you are, gets pulled out, limp in her step-brother's arms. You get a little sick to your stomach.

You begin to think of how foolish your last action was. You begin to think about how ugly of a lie this will require to get out of. You begin to worry that you might not be able to con yourself out of this one.

For once, you long to be a normal teenager. Suddenly, the thought of living your life like it's a movie is less appealing. You just want to be normal, for once. No more secrets, or lies, or deception. You want back your innocence.

Your friends hide behind you. Somehow, you realize that you're not the person they should be idolizing.

But they do, anyway.

They hide behind you, fearing the worst. You tell them you'll take care of it, never letting them see you break. It's become second nature by now.

You haven't let anyone see you cry since you were twelve. There was one weak moment at Spencer's house a year ago, but never, ever, have you let someone see you in a true state of vulnerability.

You make up a sick idea to get someone else to take the fall—the town recluse, the black cat.

In reality, you need to disengage yourself from the truth, which only your best friends know.

As you pull your best friend Spencer away from Toby Cavanaugh with peace of mind, you look back.

Another thing you're not supposed to do—never look back.

You see the same loss of innocence you've only ever seen in yourself. You realize how much this world has taken from the both of you, in a sick, twisted way.

However, you turn your head, holding it high, forcing any empathy or sympathy for you two miserable human beings out of your mind.

In that instant, you realize the error of your ways. You make a silent pact to never hurt someone like you hurt that innocent, miserable boy.

You look outside the window at the dreary rain. Off in the distance, you see a group of five girls gossiping and laughing. They smile as they dance with their umbrellas, absentminded and blissfully ignorant.

In that instant, you want to be just like them.

You push your newly bleached blond hair behind your ear.

You long to be a teen idol, an idle teen as you stare at them. You think of the years lost…the things you lost because of your past. Because you were suicidal. Because you were too optimistic. Because you didn't allow your fake beauty to show.

Fakeness.

You wanted to be a fake, just like them. You could see mascara running in the back of your mind. You saw fake eyelashes falling off, hair extensions coming out, heels breaking. Everything fake wore away.

Maybe the problem was that you were too real. You never wore makeup. You never made yourself prettier the way the other girls did. That was why you didn't fit in.

You want to be fake, and realize you're getting closer to that Barbie doll perfection in the books. You've lost weight. You've bleached your hair blonde. You've worn pounds of makeup, caking it on before class, like it's a part of you.

You begin to wonder if your efforts will ever be enough. Were you even pretty? Were you even close to pretty in the eyes of someone else?

You sigh, leaning your head against the cool of the window pane. You look at the girls again. Your blood burns as you look at them. You want them to go away. They taunt you. They remind you of your ugly past. You want blood. You're angry. All you see is red.

You take a deep breath, shutting your eyes and closing the curtains. You know how this will end if you allow your thoughts to race any further.

You watch a tear slide down the reflection of your face. You close your eyes, pressing out the last of your tears. You vow not to cry.

That doesn't keep more tears from surfacing.

You curse. You hate the mistake you've made. And for what? For wanting to know what it's like; for wanting to please someone else; for wanting to keep your loser older boyfriend.

You watch the next tear fall. You want back your virginity. You want to be a virgin again. You want to feel infinity. You want to feel pure, to be chaste, to be the person everyone idolizes.

You begin to bite the inside of your cheek, your tongue, until you feel the metallic taste of blood. You let it slide down, feeling more relaxed, not at all ashamed of resorting to an old practice.

The taste burns, you wince slightly, but feel your pain released in the blood.

Still, you think of your huge mistake. You wish you could exchange it for another.

Home alone, you exit your room. You sneak into your brother's room, finding it typically filled with the strong scent of drugs and smoke. You fish out a bottle of whiskey he has, and you take it. Soon enough, you've ingested the rest of it, and you toss it aside. You find another bottle, continuing to drink until your vision is completely messed up and you can't even bring yourself to crawl back to your room.

You feel like throwing up, aching from the alcohol and underneath that, the pain.

You finally feel satisfied that you've made a worthy mistake, for once.

You watch your new follower as she follows your lead. You find solace in knowing that she knows nothing of your past. She's completely oblivious in regards to your past.

However, you look at her with some kind of envy. You wish you had been as beautiful as her when you were younger. When someone asked if youth was meant to be beautiful, one look at Alison DiLaurentis, and you'd know your answer.

You wonder absentmindedly what it would be like to be her. She was probably the envy of every girl. She was probably a shoo-in for Prom Queen. You wished you'd been even half as popular as she had been, half as beautiful, half as confident.

She sashays back, leaving the person she's no doubt lined up as her new beau.

You groan inwardly, fearing you'll be alone forever.

She sits down, picking at the angel cake sitting on the plate before her.

You smile, thinking of the fact that she idolizes you. She thinks that you've shaped her, when in fact, she's shaped you.

You smile at the pretty lies, which hide the ugly, twisted truths the world has greeted you with.

This has been more delicious than the chocolate cake sitting before you.

You stare at her, wishing you hadn't done such wrongdoings, as you'd been wishing for the last years.

You wish you hadn't screwed so many people over. You wish you hadn't been such a narcissist, kissing the mirror when you were alone.

Most of all, you wished you hadn't done such wrong to the person before you.

This isn't the type of person that you'd wanted to be—you wanted purity! You wanted to be the kind of person people looked at in admiration, the kind that parents were glad to have around.

You didn't want to be that girl to die slowly six feet under.

You reach out, trying to touch the light. You grasp for life. You want someone to see you in this time of need. You need a savior. You need hope. You need that person you had been longing to be long before this ever happened.

Quickly, your hopes are diminished as you feel yourself letting go. Things become hazy once more. You realize that the good never get far. Maybe you were right with your own acts of deceit and lying.

Still, as you begin to see the light, you wish to be the pure, chaste teen idol you always dreamed of being.

You bury the shovel, ridding your hands of the dirt. You wonder how many people would want to be in your exact situation—how many people would want to hold the power you did mere seconds ago.

A genuine, twisted, sick smile comes across your ruby red lips. You've finally become the subject of envy, as you've always wanted to be.

The guilt doesn't overcome you as you realize all you've wanted.

Some sort of sadness overcomes you as you realize the ugly, ugly truth. You killed the only person you may have had as a friend in life. You've changed who you were, to the core. You've becoming a killer, killing a less-than innocent soul for the means of a cheap thrill, of holding power in the palm of your hand.

You suddenly realize that maybe being the teen idol is not all it's meant to be.

And that was my one-shot! Please leave me a review on how I did! It would be awesome. -Kayson