AN::

*Note to self* Extremely stuck on other story. Have mentally put it on pause. Will go back to it if inspiration arises.
~ Pucca
..::.. Failed Life ..::..
..::.. Chapter Three ..::..

..::.. Another day of work ..::..
Tiredness washes over my feet. Brash, provocative words run from the phone I clutched to with dear life. My alarm clock rings at the usual five thirty; Shimamoto can really yell. I yawned and simultaneously nodded, forgetting that I was on the phone and she could not see my agreement. She was rudely calling me at five-ish in the morning to tell me that somehow I had not posed enough outfits all yesterday and the client has more photos on request. Which means more money to make, more smiles to flash, more cups of coffee to keep me going throughout the day.

Shimamoto was bagging on me about how I should wake up earlier on Saturdays so we can fit in more time in the morning for hair and make-up. And if I wake up early, then I can also have my lunch time delayed to do squeeze another modeling session in the afternoon right before dinner. Then I can be let go at seven to nap over at Miwa's then we'll fluff up and either go to the Kitty Walk for cute accessories or the bar Crimson Sky to do more mingling. I never get home before twelve, which is a curse because then I would only get at most five hours of sleep.

I didn't bother to make myself look extremely attractive as I groped in the dark for something to wear while brushing my teeth and keeping the phone in the niche between my ear and shoulder. I cut off Shimamoto's rambling by telling her that I was heading over as fast as possible. Pulling an oversized knitted sweater over my head, and then reached down for random shoes, I realized the head hole on the sweater was too big and drooped over one shoulder. Oh, screw it, tossing a beret over my flat hair, I picked up my keys and phone and accidentally slammed the door a little too hard. Mikash upstairs wouldn't be too happy; newspaper editors and their silence, jeez.
Walking isn't a real smart thing to do when you're cutting all the red lights in the semi-blue sky and cars could kill you at any second. Especially convertibles driven by tall guys with blue hair and blue eyes.

"Fucking shit!" Maybe I'll die here on the Tokyo pavement street; the towering buildings seem to sway as if in an earthquake as I laid there on the ground, my head is inches away from the tire of some car. I closed my eyes and rested my mind. I bet I looked like some gothic angel of death in my black sweater, black beret, black boots and clutching my cell phone over my abdomen.

"Caroline?" Oh, jeez. Did it have to be him? He smelled the same as always.

"Hm?" I smiled nonchalantly and simply propped up my feet so my knees were bent. Maybe Shimamoto wouldn't be very mad if I was late and hurt at the same time.
The red plush chair felt cold and irritating underneath my bum. And the buzzing of the florescent light hummed like a cricket on a summer evening: annoyingly.

"Yukari, did you have to get yourself nearly killed at five thirty in the morning?" Shimamoto was indeed mad that I was late and hurt at the same time. But nooooo, Mr. Koizume, our perfect client was not in trouble for nearly killing me at five thirty in the morning.

"Is it possible to cover up that patch with a hat since it's so close to her hairline?" No really, we're going to cover it up with a wig.
"Look this way, tilt your head. Yes, yes. That's beautiful." Some photographers are so gay. They think models are blond brainless dumbass-es who have to be directed at which direction's left or right. Sighing lightly, I turned to my other-left and tried to capture that nature essence which George wants. Some people are so demanding.

After seven outfits, I was pooped. I want to go home. Unfortunately, Shimamoto caught up with me and dragged me out to lunch at some fancy restaurant with George. He didn't seem to mind; fine, neither will I. Well, I suppose he was being extremely kind, seeing that I got to wear and keep an extra outfit. Maybe he does care.

But somehow, I think he wanted me to look extra good for the sake of himself. Tube-top black lace summer dress with matching jeans and high boots, sure why not, oh yes, plus a hat. And we mustn't forget the short little matching gloves.
I said as less as possible, and when I did talk, I usually mumbled into my salad. And all throughout lunch, I kept praying that Miwako would call, or maybe even my mom, just to see how I'm doing. Luckily, my phone beeped towards the end of main course, thank god. Whadda ya know, it's Suguru.

Hey sis, wanna treat me to lunch? [sounds enthusiastic]

Are you out of allowance again? [looks suspicious]

Maybe, maybe not. [ehehehe..]

Did you spend all of your allowance on Chobits again? That's sick. [shakes head]

Well, it was only "Zipper".

Are you kidding me? You read Zipper? It's a fashion magazine [ehh.]

So? There's Paradise Kiss in the back.

Stop stalling, get to the point. [look like pms-ing]

I want lunch.

I'll pick you up outside your prep school in ten minutes.

Done. [sounds happy]

--Dial tone--

Said and done. But I still felt guilty about ditching in the middle of the meal to eat chocolate banana parfait with my brother. But thinking about it won't make it better, but then not eating my parfait would make it mushy.
That night, I went down Kitty Walk by myself though I didn't buy anything. Finally, I went into Bistro Bar near the end of the walk; a band was playing. I heeded them no mind, the darkness would hide me in its cloak. Maybe it will shield me from the evils of the day, I don't know, darkness is a funny thing.

I returned to my apartment after I dropped in a convenience store and bought myself some nail polish; I decided to paint it a metallic orange. But I think I fell asleep in the couch. With the TV left on. And drowning in my pile of schoolwork. And various mangas that I had bought out of whim. And the scattered deep blue bottles of blue and white roses.
Welcome to my mixed-up world. Where feelings clash, and emotions are splashed as sunny yellow or peachy pink. Where your best friend's name is A- little-bit-blue-Miwako. Where you're curiously dependent on coffee, the very thing that you live for. Where the only thing pushing you in life is a sweet memory of long ago. And in dreams, you can't help but see a fluttering blue butterfly. Maybe we're both a bit wacko.