September 11, 2012
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I guess you could assume she was happy. If you walked by her window in the break of the morning you could find her dancing to music that was far to loud, singing into her brush as if it was a microphone. She had the energy that no other could possess. See her in school and she was the social butterfly, hoping from one table to another, greeting her classmates with an almost painfully enthusiastic grin slapped across her face. She made class vibrant, with her constant remarks that always seemed to be right, and her willingness to succeed in each subject. Some said she was the perfect one. She had her family: a mother, father, sister and brother, who each managed to achieve the highest degree of self satisfaction. Her siblings were valedictorians and were moving onto prestigious Ivy league schools that some would only dream of going to, (and of course they got in full-scholarship). Her parents were the most prized attorneys in town, credentials and all, and they could support their family with means beyond imaginable. They were like a family on a television show-the perfect suburban household, and each one of the members knew that. They held their head up high and walked out the door each day with an exemplary attitude. They made everything look so easy: obtaining money, getting perfect marks on tests, getting whatever one may please, because for them it was easy. It was almost too easy, and that's what she hated. She hated the perfection. She hated the high standards. She wanted to break free from it all, but she knew she couldn't, and so she spent each day going through with her routine. And by all means, she f***ing hated it.

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