Vinyl Records:
Butterfly kisses
"So, what do you want to tell me? Tell me everything." Abigail said looking at me. Pen and notebook in her hand, she stood there ready to write whatever I told her. I could see it, in her small black eyes, the excitement of starting something new, yet the cautiousness that kept her silent.
She said that I would regret it sooner or later. She said that people knowing my story will either help me, or kill me. She thought I was alone in this. And I guess I was.
I puffed out the smoke and held the cigarette in my hand. I looked at my long fingers, with chipped black nails. They were long enough, considering I've been biting on them since he came. My flaming red hair was messily put in a bun. I guess my clothes weren't much either. I wanted to be comfortable, I wanted to be myself.
I laughed a sad laugh after that. How much I could be myself after him, at least. Baggy striped shirt, skinny black jeans and high tops. I pulled at my shirt annoyingly. I had a tan. And if you knew me, you know how much I hated getting one.
"Sally?" Abigail asked me. I snapped out of it and took another smoke.
"Yeah. Well, let's start with the beginning." I said. I laughed softly and let Abigail write. I could already see the plans she made with this story. Hope it helps her.
Flashback
I was just a girl. Like any other. My look was plain, and my name was plain. Sally. Hm, what could I do about it? I wanted to make people like me. But nobody seemed to. I had one friend, much of a friend she turned out to be. She was the same friend I had in kindergarten. Fake, nosy, rich and spoiled. Yet every kid in this classroom seemed the same.
I'm not going to lie. I was one too. Guess that's why I was assigned this class. Besides, it was the best class in all of the school. The best class of fifth graders. I was twelve. I had brown hair, long hair and tan skin. Brown eyes, pretty plain. My teeth were perfect, but my appearance wasn't. I was a chubby kid. No one really got me, except food. And that was the only real friend I had.
I looked two benches to the left. There stood the sporty, tomboyish girl named Abigail. She always wore the boys' uniform, and jeans. I tugged at my uniform nervously. The skirt and jacket, perfectly ironed. Perfect grades, perfect dolls, perfect friends.
Yet, why did I have only one?
She said that I would regret it sooner or later. She said that people knowing my story will either help me, or kill me. She thought I was alone in this. And I guess I was.
I puffed out the smoke and held the cigarette in my hand. I looked at my long fingers, with chipped black nails. They were long enough, considering I've been biting on them since he came. My flaming red hair was messily put in a bun. I guess my clothes weren't much either. I wanted to be comfortable, I wanted to be myself.
I laughed a sad laugh after that. How much I could be myself after him, at least. Baggy striped shirt, skinny black jeans and high tops. I pulled at my shirt annoyingly. I had a tan. And if you knew me, you know how much I hated getting one.
"Sally?" Abigail asked me. I snapped out of it and took another smoke.
"Yeah. Well, let's start with the beginning." I said. I laughed softly and let Abigail write. I could already see the plans she made with this story. Hope it helps her.
Flashback
I was just a girl. Like any other. My look was plain, and my name was plain. Sally. Hm, what could I do about it? I wanted to make people like me. But nobody seemed to. I had one friend, much of a friend she turned out to be. She was the same friend I had in kindergarten. Fake, nosy, rich and spoiled. Yet every kid in this classroom seemed the same.
I'm not going to lie. I was one too. Guess that's why I was assigned this class. Besides, it was the best class in all of the school. The best class of fifth graders. I was twelve. I had brown hair, long hair and tan skin. Brown eyes, pretty plain. My teeth were perfect, but my appearance wasn't. I was a chubby kid. No one really got me, except food. And that was the only real friend I had.
I looked two benches to the left. There stood the sporty, tomboyish girl named Abigail. She always wore the boys' uniform, and jeans. I tugged at my uniform nervously. The skirt and jacket, perfectly ironed. Perfect grades, perfect dolls, perfect friends.
Yet, why did I have only one?