3:04 AM
Somehow, the pages are filling. The more I watch her, the more interesting it gets. She's not particularly intelligent. She's certainly not a humanitarian. She's pretty enough, but not nearly as beautiful as some. She has friends when she wants to, but otherwise, just prey. People fear her, but all she is, is talk.
But there are days. Some days, she's beautiful. She's a goddess. She floats from linoleum hallway to linoleum hallway, and there's nothing stopping her. Those days, there's an extra flare in her skirt, an extra shine to her smile, an extra bounce to her hair. She's the invincible cheerleader, social society follower, yes, but perfect in every way.
But then there are other days. Her eyes hide a sort of deadened feeling, a sort of flat nothingness. She's been run over, hit by a truck; someone stopped the unstoppable.
And the worst part? No one notices. No one sees. Everyday is the same, a blended pattern of yes and no. But I see it. I maybe the only one, but I see.
What happens when everyone else is blind?
"What shade do you think?," Claire questioned, holding up two tubes. "Light rose rosy pink or extra pink light rose rosy pink?"
"Well," Kate observed each tube, "Light rose rosy pink has a more subtle hint of rosy ness, but extra pink light rose rosy pink is tinted with extra shine."
"Is THAT why they put extra in the title?," Claire asked in awe. There were benefits of having a best friend with excellent observational skills in fashion crises. "You're so smart Kate."
"I know," Kate flipped her thick curtain of curls and went back to raiding Claire's closet. Claire held back an eye roll. It had become strange tradition to compliment Kate even without an audience. It only serviced to feed her bloated ego, but Claire found herself content with this. Kate's ego gave her the confidence she needed to plow people down, and if you stuck close behind her, you got a path too.
4:51 AM
It is a common mistake that under the preppy, shallow exterior, people like her are deep. But on the contrary, Claire HAS no depth. All that is really there is a hallow cheerleading outfit, a machine pumping its robotic arms and following trends and fashions. You can search all you want, but there are no dramatic poems or depressing songs to be wrote about her soul, because she doesn't HAVE one. She sold it for a pair of pom poms a long time ago, and rumor has it, it's never coming back.
School. People. Crowds. Eyes followed as Kate and Claire breezed by. Sometimes Claire held her breath. She wasn't sure why. Maybe she wanted to think she wasn't human; she was above the regular, everyday activities other people took part in. Breathing, sleeping, eating, it was all bullshit. All Claire needed to survive was her popularity. She could breathe, sleep, and eat that.
Jacob Thompson was a small kid, with gangly arms and a fuzzy head. His ears stuck out slightly, and his best subject was biology. It was common knowledge he had a major crush on Claire, that is, except maybe to her.
"H-Hi, Claire," He breathed admiringly, staring more at her sweater than her face. "You're looking p-p-particularly ravishing today."
"I'm sorry, Kate," Claire said loudly, "But did we change the rules so that we could talk to losers?"
"Uh, no," Kate replied harshly.
"Sorry, freak," Claire pushed Jacob out of her way. "God, what a waste of free space."
"Seriously."
And this is how it worked. She ruled and everyone else drooled, with rare exceptions. She had it all, and no one could take it away.
Yet.
Somehow, the pages are filling. The more I watch her, the more interesting it gets. She's not particularly intelligent. She's certainly not a humanitarian. She's pretty enough, but not nearly as beautiful as some. She has friends when she wants to, but otherwise, just prey. People fear her, but all she is, is talk.
But there are days. Some days, she's beautiful. She's a goddess. She floats from linoleum hallway to linoleum hallway, and there's nothing stopping her. Those days, there's an extra flare in her skirt, an extra shine to her smile, an extra bounce to her hair. She's the invincible cheerleader, social society follower, yes, but perfect in every way.
But then there are other days. Her eyes hide a sort of deadened feeling, a sort of flat nothingness. She's been run over, hit by a truck; someone stopped the unstoppable.
And the worst part? No one notices. No one sees. Everyday is the same, a blended pattern of yes and no. But I see it. I maybe the only one, but I see.
What happens when everyone else is blind?
"What shade do you think?," Claire questioned, holding up two tubes. "Light rose rosy pink or extra pink light rose rosy pink?"
"Well," Kate observed each tube, "Light rose rosy pink has a more subtle hint of rosy ness, but extra pink light rose rosy pink is tinted with extra shine."
"Is THAT why they put extra in the title?," Claire asked in awe. There were benefits of having a best friend with excellent observational skills in fashion crises. "You're so smart Kate."
"I know," Kate flipped her thick curtain of curls and went back to raiding Claire's closet. Claire held back an eye roll. It had become strange tradition to compliment Kate even without an audience. It only serviced to feed her bloated ego, but Claire found herself content with this. Kate's ego gave her the confidence she needed to plow people down, and if you stuck close behind her, you got a path too.
4:51 AM
It is a common mistake that under the preppy, shallow exterior, people like her are deep. But on the contrary, Claire HAS no depth. All that is really there is a hallow cheerleading outfit, a machine pumping its robotic arms and following trends and fashions. You can search all you want, but there are no dramatic poems or depressing songs to be wrote about her soul, because she doesn't HAVE one. She sold it for a pair of pom poms a long time ago, and rumor has it, it's never coming back.
School. People. Crowds. Eyes followed as Kate and Claire breezed by. Sometimes Claire held her breath. She wasn't sure why. Maybe she wanted to think she wasn't human; she was above the regular, everyday activities other people took part in. Breathing, sleeping, eating, it was all bullshit. All Claire needed to survive was her popularity. She could breathe, sleep, and eat that.
Jacob Thompson was a small kid, with gangly arms and a fuzzy head. His ears stuck out slightly, and his best subject was biology. It was common knowledge he had a major crush on Claire, that is, except maybe to her.
"H-Hi, Claire," He breathed admiringly, staring more at her sweater than her face. "You're looking p-p-particularly ravishing today."
"I'm sorry, Kate," Claire said loudly, "But did we change the rules so that we could talk to losers?"
"Uh, no," Kate replied harshly.
"Sorry, freak," Claire pushed Jacob out of her way. "God, what a waste of free space."
"Seriously."
And this is how it worked. She ruled and everyone else drooled, with rare exceptions. She had it all, and no one could take it away.
Yet.
