She was blonde, tall, and well-dressed with no worries in
the world. She walked the walk and talked the talk. She always had an
entourage, of course a blonde one. Never would she ever be seen out at a party
alone. Her clothes, size extra small, were purchased from the places where no
one could afford—the places where normal people would look in the window and
drool at the beauty inside.
She stormed out of the house, balling her little eyes out.
The tears, heavy as a brick, ran down her face as fast as Niagara Falls. With
her friend by her side, they walked to the car. While sobbing, she was telling
her friend what had happened that night. “He shoved me and I almost fell down.
He kept telling me I was an alcoholic,” she explained. Who knew if all these things
were true?
She never was the type of person who would be in and out of
relationships easily. There were only three people who she actually cared about
her first twenty years of life. But, this was definitely the worst ending to
them all. Her thoughts throughout the night consisted of, “What is going to
happen next? Are we going to get back together? No. Yes. No, he’s a jerk. But I
love him.” Her friends kept telling her that she didn’t need a guy like that in
her life.
The tears kept coming down, but this time they were lighter,
but not light as a feather. Her small, weak body lay on the bed. Black makeup
was on her pillow and used wet tissues were scattered around her perfectly
decorated pink room. She tried to escape her thoughts about him but nothing
would clear them from her head. She ripped the dream catcher off the wall and
through it out her window and screamed, “This stupid thing doesn’t do anything!”
She was exhausted from crying and yelling all night and before she knew it her
black eyes were heavy and her mouth could move no more and she went to sleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment