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Stereotyped

The warmth, the darkness, the comfort, everything, was invaded by the light that switched on in the hallway. I groaned and flipped my head towards the wall and let myself fall back into the vivid dreams.
The light in my room switched on. There was no escape this time. Nowhere to flip my head. I fumbled my feet around, looking for the side of the bed, and stood up on the fuzzy berber carpet. I struggled to open my eyes; the light was too bright, and I’m trying too fast. Instead of trying, I shuffle my way into the bathroom, putting my hands out to the sides, feeling for the walls and doorways. There, I could open my eyes. The light was dimmer.
I brushed my teeth with the strawberry-mint tooth paste, during so, sitting down to read “To Kill a Mockingbird” by Harper Lee on the cold tile floor. The sound of light pattering downstairs turned to a rumble as my dachshund puppy discovered that the gate wasn’t on the stairs. A moment later, her cold tongue was licking my fingertips, causing me to flip a page or two ahead on accident. I spit and rinsed, putting the brush back on it’s charger.
Back in my room, awake and self-conscious, I looked in the mirror and hated the size 34A breasts that no shirt could enlarge. The only shirt that could’ve possibly my breasts look any larger were the colorful lace camisoles or even the lace-less ones. Often I felt bad about not wearing anything but those stupid tank tops. The only I was entirely confident about were my gray-blue eyes, that, with black eyeliner rimming the top and half the bottom, and with heavy mascara, were (guilty is charged) gorgeous. I pulled on a purple tank top and a pair of dark wash skinny flare jeans, and hastily drew, painted, brushed, and rubbed on my makeup.
Forty-five minutes later I was in my eighth-grade homeroom. Completely isolated from everyone. My dad said I needed to stop isolating myself and branch out. It was too late: everyone at school got the idea that my best friend and I were the stereotypical emo druggy kids in my grade. Really, we were just so tired of house immature everyone was here that we stopped socializing. The truth was I had never done drugs. The emo part may have been true, but I didn’t cut. I was just extremely disappointed in life.




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This article has 3 comments. Post your own!

Phoenix611 said...
Jul. 3, 2010 at 12:41 pm:
wow. I loved it!!!!!!! that was excellent. a couple grammatical errors but otherwise an amazing story!! keep writing!!!!
 
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hootowl4 said...
Mar. 17, 2010 at 5:11 pm:
i hate it when people don't comment i liked the descriptive beginning. keep writing!
 
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writer658 said...
Feb. 18, 2010 at 10:19 am:
would somebody like to actually give me feedback on these?
 
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