Trigger Warning: mention of suicide

Rosy cheeks. Pink lips. Blue eyes. Long blonde hair.

A-list student. Head cheerleader. Wealthy family.

Great bestfriend with a great boyfriend for a great queen bee.

Sarah Ottoman is the name.

Click! Click! Clack! Clack!

You know she's entered the halls.

The air is swallowed by a floral scented perfume.

The floral scented perfume. Her floral scented perfume.

Jealous girls immediately scowl, and nerd boys' breath automatically quicken.

With a turn of a head, a mysterious smile is seen on Sarah.

Her blue eyes glistened and her plump lips moved softly as she whispered into Selena, her best friend's ear.

The sister of the queen, was standing by her locker, lurking in the shadows.

Watching.

Observing.

Closely.

She, I, hated this girl. This relative.

This sibling.

She could disappear.

Forever.

***

At this moment, the light was pleasant.

The 20 pairs of eyes were perfect.

The puddle of drools were amazing.

Left foot. Right foot. Hips swish.

Batting eyelashes. Puckered Lips.

Sudden giggle outbursts.

Head held high. Good posture.

A white, glittering, toothy smile.

Me. Me. Me. It was all about me.

It felt good. so freaking good.

I live this and I breath it.

Happiness filled my body.

For a millisecond.

It was stressful being Regina George.

Most of the time, the light was displeasing.

The 20 pairs of eyes were terrifying,

and the puddles of drool were disturbing.

It was all fake.

Pretend.

Deceiving.

Feign.

A disguise.

I. was. a. phony.

And I was depressed.

I needed to be perfect, I didn't want it.

The statement was ridiculous.

Foolish.

Crazy.

Unbelievable.

And bizarre.

If I wasn't perfect, someone else would be.

A whisper of "Sarah" and a snobbish laugh would appear behind me.

Giggle.

Chuckle.

Snicker.

The joke?

Sarah Ottoman.

And I needed to be so far from being the joke.

The saying of "I'm Sarah Ottoman and I'm fabulous," isn't going to work anymore.

Pitch Black.

Stop.

Gray Clouds.

Stop.

Hot Rain.

Stop.

Maroon Blood.

Stop!

Thunder.

Stop!

Lightning.

Stop!!

Sharp Knife!!!

Deep Cut.

STOP!

Bloody tiles.

STOP!!!

Pitch Black.

gone.

***

I smelled it first. Blood.

I saw it second. Blood.

I heard it next. Silence.

I touched it after. The body.

I tasted it finally. Pain.

Sirens.

Red light.

Paramedics.

Truck.

One body bag.

She had an eternity, but she chose to live about two decades.

The wind was heavy.

It was cold.

Like my freezing heart.

Clutch the flowers tightly.

Rub the teddy bear's fur.

Feel the engraved government name of hers on the stone.

Kiss the stone.

Tell the stone the truth.

You hated the stone.

You despised it.

But you knew the stone was in pain.

You found out that the stone  had a soft side.

Even if the stone had scratches and bumps.

The stone would still be beautiful.

Cause' the perfect is stressful,

boring,

and not real.

_________________________________

"Perfect people aren't real, and real people aren't perfect." ~ unknown

Stay breezy

~tatiana