Status: Active.
Suburbia
One.
In suburbia, everything is perfect. Everything is just so.
Everybody lives their perfect lives, in their perfect houses with their perfect gardens (the ones with the perfect lawns that are the perfect length.)
And each perfect family in each perfect neighbourhood have absolutely no troubles at all (well, no troubles that anyone else has to know about.)
But, if anything so happens to be unperfect it won’t matter, because it can be perfectly ignored and perfectly not spoken of so that everything is perfect anyway.
And this is how I lived my perfect existence; I went to my perfect school, got my perfect grades and lived my perfect life. And everything was just perfect, because everyone understood that to be perfect, sacrifices must be made, imperfections hidden and ignored and your sorrows buried so deep down that no one would know they were there at all.
However, when I came to find Craig hanging by his perfect little neck from those perfect little rafters in his perfect little bedroom, everything was not quite perfect. Because this could not be perfectly ignored, this could not be perfectly corrected; this could not be perfectly forgotten.
This did not fit in our make-believe world, and that was when the cracks began to show.
Everybody lives their perfect lives, in their perfect houses with their perfect gardens (the ones with the perfect lawns that are the perfect length.)
And each perfect family in each perfect neighbourhood have absolutely no troubles at all (well, no troubles that anyone else has to know about.)
But, if anything so happens to be unperfect it won’t matter, because it can be perfectly ignored and perfectly not spoken of so that everything is perfect anyway.
And this is how I lived my perfect existence; I went to my perfect school, got my perfect grades and lived my perfect life. And everything was just perfect, because everyone understood that to be perfect, sacrifices must be made, imperfections hidden and ignored and your sorrows buried so deep down that no one would know they were there at all.
However, when I came to find Craig hanging by his perfect little neck from those perfect little rafters in his perfect little bedroom, everything was not quite perfect. Because this could not be perfectly ignored, this could not be perfectly corrected; this could not be perfectly forgotten.
This did not fit in our make-believe world, and that was when the cracks began to show.
♠ ♠ ♠
This is new, and it's my first seriousish story in a while, so comments and criticism are very much welcome.