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Porcelain

To the world, she was beautiful. Golden hair, piercing blue eyes. Tall, and model thin. In the eyes of the world she was perfect. However, the way They saw her, and the way she saw herself were two completely different things.

She looked in the mirror, and held her breath. She could hear practically hear The Others laughing in her mind. She would never be good enough.

The Girl glanced up at the clock “F***...” she mumbled under her breath.

She walks the halls of her school completely alone. The Others watch her. The Others whisper.

The Girl often felt like a zombie. Dead inside, but technically still alive. The Girl was really living just to die.

In class, she sat alone. At the back of the room. Unresponsive. She never did her assignments. She didn’t see the point. But she continued to go to school, because in her eyes, she had no other choice,

Every so often she would submit an English assignment; a poem, a story. That’s all though. Just that. Just a poem. Or just a story.

At sundown The Girl looked at the clock, and a small smile appeared on her pale face. It had been thirty-eight hours since she had allowed herself to give into the temptation that was eating.

The Girl sat in her room. Alone. None of The Others had a clue as to how things really were for her. They believed the lies. They bought into the illusion, and They loved every minute of it.

Once The Girl had tried to count every scar upon her porcelain skin. She had not gotten very far before she gave up and decided to create another.

The Girl rarely slept. Her mind would not let her. It stayed up taunting her. Re-playing the same fragments of memories again- again- again.

She was fourteen the first time she had tried. She took a bottle of Advil, and rinsed it down with vodka one cold November night.

The Girl awoke. Startled and confused. She got out of bed, tied up her hair. Took a shot of whisky, and then left for school.


She walked through the halls dazed and alone. She kept hearing The Others whisper her name. “Do you hear them? Do you hear how they say your name? Chin-up, B****. Do not let them see that you are ashamed.” Her mind was such a dangerous place.

In class her teacher handed her a book ‘ The Perks of Being a Wallflower ‘. She handed it back and whispered, “I’ve read this a thousand times.”

It was April when she tried once more; she slit her wrists and let the blood pool on the floor.

Every so often The Girl would wonder, what had become of the boy. The one she had deserted out of fear. Was he as broken as her? Had he forgotten about her?

She opened her old leather bound journal. She turned to a blank page. My eyes are ice. My body is cold. I’m so bruised and scarred now… I’m so dead and gone now…

She remembered the exact moment she had decided she was meant for life. Just thirteen. That was also the day she fell in love with her knife.

The Girl often missed her mother. She had not seen her in weeks. She needed her. She needed her mother’s love. Her attention. Her support. She just needed her mom.

Every breath she took, The Girl regretted. She was still here. She was still miserable.

The Girl felt like she was living, someone else’s life. This was never suppose to be her. She once had such amazing plans for her future.

Her mind continued to taunt her. It played tricks on her eyes. She saw herself, but younger outside her bedroom door. She blinked fast, and little her was there no more. She was not sure if she was losing her mind, or taking the first step to true sanity.

The Girl used to have friends. She used to laugh, and smile. She used to flirt with boys and eat fast food. She used to be alive.

She woke up sweating, and freezing cold. Gasping for air. She dreamt… She dreamt of shapes, and colours, and feelings. Fear; triangles; warmth; green; and hate. Her dreams were obviously a reflection of her mental state.

She had wanted to be a dancer; a writer; a singer; a teacher; a mom; and a doctor. She wanted to take the world by storm. She had wanted a family, and a picket white fence, a rose garden and a room for painting. She had wanted to create some sort of perfect life. But as she got older, and as she continued to die from the inside, this incredible life she had imagined, seemed like a waste of time.

The Girl no longer went to school. She found it to be pointless. She was never going to make anything of herself. So she just stopped going.

There was only one thing that comforted The Girl. The sound of wind. It often made her feel like there was more than just the excruciating life she had been living. But even eventually, the wind was no longer comforting.

“You disgust me,” she would say to the mirror, “you’re repulsive, and I hate you,” The words were heavy on her tongue, “you’re unlovable.”

The Girl continued to lose her mind, more and more with each sunrise. She covered all her mirrors, and burned all the pictures of herself, “Worthless whore,” she said as all the photographs of her childhood melted into ash before her eyes, “you’re a waste of life.”

On the fourth of September she decided she was done. With the world. With The Others. With herself.

Fragile, pale, breathless. They found her two days later. Hung from the banister. On the table by the door, was a page ripped from its book.

“Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
and he called it "chops"
because that was the name of his dog
and that’s what it was all about
his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
and his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts.
that was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo
and he let them sing on the bus
and his little sister was born
with tiny nails and no hair
and his mother and father kissed a lot
and the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X's
and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
and his father always tucked him in bed at night
and was always there to do it

once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem
he called it "Autumn"
because that was the name of the season
and that's what it was all about
and his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
and his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of the new paint
and the kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
and left butts on the pews
and sometime they would burn holes
that was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
and the girl around the corner laughed
when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
and the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed a lot
and his father never tucked him in bed at night
and his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it

once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
and he called it "Innocence: A Question"
because that was the question about his girl
and that’s what it was all about
and his professor gave him an A
and a strange steady look
and his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
that was the year Father Tracy died
and he forgot how the end
of the Apostle’s Creed went
and he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
and his mother and father never kissed
or even talked
and the girl around the corner
wore too much make up
that made him cough when he kissed her
but he kissed her anyway
because it was the thing to do
and at 3 am he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring soundly

that's why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem
and he called it "Absolutely Nothing"
because that's what it was really all about
and he gave himself an A
and a slash on each damned wrist
and he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn’t think
he could reach the kitchen----“ (Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower)



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