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"Molly Morbid...Molly's emo...Molly, do you own anything besides black, and dark black?"
These are the taunts I hear everyday, and they aren't even good ones. I mean, come on, really? I'm goth, not emo, and I'm not morbid. And besides, i wear neon colors too, but in small doses.
I guess you want to know who I am. I'm Molly RoseAnne Walsh. I'm 16, and if you missed the memo, my stereotype is the wierd loner goth girl.I'm a junior in highschool, and I have a few friends, but they are all pretty and popular, so I can't hang out with them at school. That's about all you need to know. Don't like it, eh, I couldn't care less, it's not like I'll ever meet you.
Prom is 3 days away. I don't have a date, but that's fine by me. There's only one person at school that I'm interested in, and unfortunatly, I don't stand a chance. But, I'm going anyways. Might as well see who gets drunk and winds up pregnant this year.
Ugh, the past three days have been the same, monotone world that I live in constantly, but at least prom is tonight, so a shock is in store for my peers, if you want to call them that. It's not like any of them could compare to me anyways.
My dress is red. Not my usual deep burgandy, blood red. No, it's a fire red, one shoulder dress, made of satin, that shimmers in the dim light of the local Holiday Inn. My waist length hair is pinned and curled at the base of my neck, with loose tendrils framing my face. My normal make up, consisting of absolutley nothing, has been thrown out the window. Instead, my eyes are done in a subtle smokey eyes, with dramatic eyelashes to enhance my violet eyes. My lips have been painted the same shade of my dress, and it kills me to know how many animals were killed to make my face look like this.
My eyes keep shifting as I pull up in my car. Yes, if you see it, it is, indeed, a hearse. I guess you cn take the girl away from the goth, but you can't take the goth away from the girl.
Prom started an hour ago, so I'm late. I guess with how I'm looking, you could say I'm fashionably late. Ugh. I hate that term. If you are going to be late, then yo are rude, not fashionable. Whoever came up with the phrase needs a good butt-kicking.
Speaking of kicking, how do those prissy girls stand these stupid heels. I miss my beat up old converse already.
My heart is pounding as I walk in the door. I hear the DJ of the evening, our principle, stop the music as I walk in. the AV club kids train the lights on me, as everyone tries to figure out who I am. Suddenly, The head jock, our school's resident jerk comes over.
"Molly Morbid?! Who knew all of this was hiding under all of that depression."
Soon, wolf whistles and cat calls are flying at me from everywhere. But, I don't care. I walk over to my beloved, standing in their group of friends.
"MOlly?! OMG You look amazing. Come, let's go get pictures!"
"Actually, I have to tell you something..."
Soon, every emotion, every thought, every unspoken word from the past 6 years comes rushing out, ending with
"I love you, Andria."
The dancefloor is silent again. Suddenly, the king of the jocks speaks up again, "Molly's a lesbian. HAAAHAHAH!"
But he is the only one that says anything, because the Andria, the girl who was supposed to be his girlfriend, looks at me and rushes me, jumping into my arms and wrapping her legs around me.
"I love you too. Everything about you. No matter how strange everyone else thinks you are, I can see past that. You are amazing, Molly, and I don't care who else knows that I love you."
Then, her lips are on mine, slowly moving against mine. Then faster, hungrier, until we are both gasping for air.
I look at her, "That was my first kiss."