Fat Girl
mirror wasn't punishment enough
When a person is young the adults say that high school is a wonderful place.
An educational building brimming with learning and joy, that is what they tell you. But with age, memories can contort and twist into something they weren’t really at all in the first place. We can’t blame them for the lies spilling so perfectly from their lips, simply because their feeble minds can’t revive the earthly equivalent to hell.
That was very much what she could call the place that they called high school.
Dangerous waters where each must fend for their lives, people may swim in packs but who knows who will turn and rip one’s fins to shreds?
Monica trudges into said nightmare by force, eyes begging for any sliver of hope. All she discovers are the revolted stares of her peers, each as if it's the first time they’d seen such a sight, as if they don't undertake the same routine each day.
Her eyes fall towards the tiled floor as she continues her walk.
She finally finds salvage in the form of a tall ginger pole. Determined human at birth but now only resembles a tremendously pasty stick, a mop of orange hair only to entertain the illusion. Teeth adorned with braces grin at Monica’s arrival.
Fat Girl has a friend, and that is she. Christened Hilary by adults and Ginger Girl by everyone else, and that is she.
“Hey, did you get your Math homework done last night?” Hilary asks, leaning against the burgundy lockers and clutching onto her book bag.
Monica nods her head as a conformation; she always does her homework. It isn't as if she possesses that many affairs to attend to
“I swear Mr. Remmie just likes to gives us all this work because he’s bored,” she complains, blowing a curly strand of carrot from her face.
“Yeah,” Monica snorts as if she owns that superiority complex the jocks have. “What a loser.”
The stares are almost like claws, slowing digging into her skin and ripping apart her flesh like an Aero bar. The giggles caused by malicious commentary echo through her mind and pound against her skull, as if the reflection in the mirror wasn’t punishment enough.
Nonetheless she smiles at her friend.
That is, until one breathless laugh slashes away the others. The familiar tone fashions into talons and trickles down her skin.
Baby, there’s a shark in the water.
An educational building brimming with learning and joy, that is what they tell you. But with age, memories can contort and twist into something they weren’t really at all in the first place. We can’t blame them for the lies spilling so perfectly from their lips, simply because their feeble minds can’t revive the earthly equivalent to hell.
That was very much what she could call the place that they called high school.
Dangerous waters where each must fend for their lives, people may swim in packs but who knows who will turn and rip one’s fins to shreds?
Monica trudges into said nightmare by force, eyes begging for any sliver of hope. All she discovers are the revolted stares of her peers, each as if it's the first time they’d seen such a sight, as if they don't undertake the same routine each day.
Her eyes fall towards the tiled floor as she continues her walk.
She finally finds salvage in the form of a tall ginger pole. Determined human at birth but now only resembles a tremendously pasty stick, a mop of orange hair only to entertain the illusion. Teeth adorned with braces grin at Monica’s arrival.
Fat Girl has a friend, and that is she. Christened Hilary by adults and Ginger Girl by everyone else, and that is she.
“Hey, did you get your Math homework done last night?” Hilary asks, leaning against the burgundy lockers and clutching onto her book bag.
Monica nods her head as a conformation; she always does her homework. It isn't as if she possesses that many affairs to attend to
“I swear Mr. Remmie just likes to gives us all this work because he’s bored,” she complains, blowing a curly strand of carrot from her face.
“Yeah,” Monica snorts as if she owns that superiority complex the jocks have. “What a loser.”
The stares are almost like claws, slowing digging into her skin and ripping apart her flesh like an Aero bar. The giggles caused by malicious commentary echo through her mind and pound against her skull, as if the reflection in the mirror wasn’t punishment enough.
Nonetheless she smiles at her friend.
That is, until one breathless laugh slashes away the others. The familiar tone fashions into talons and trickles down her skin.
Baby, there’s a shark in the water.
♠ ♠ ♠
... yes.This song has been on repeat for a while.
:D
Lulz, I love refrences to chocolate bars. AND YEAH, IT'D BE COOL IF YOU GAVE ME CHOCOLATE BAR BRAND NAMES. 12<3