The Facade This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

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She gets up, stretches, and looks out her window; it makes her feel better that it’s gloomy outside today. Walking blindly, she made her way through the gloom, to find her way to the bathroom.

When her hand found the light switch, she flicked it on. Suddenly, she was staring at her reflection. She immediately felt a sudden surge of hate towards the girl staring back at her. There is no beauty here. There is the hollowed out shell of the person she used to be.
She has a mask she hides behind. No, not a mask, a façade. A beautiful façade that has friends. One who’s always happy. Who can always get a laugh. One nothing like the real Her.
Her façade has come alive so well, fooled so many people. Sometimes she marvels at how good an actress she’s become.
She knows she shouldn’t act. It doesn’t do any good. Her façade is fading. As she grows, it chips away, showing the broken doll that lurks inside.
She isn’t oblivious of this. She’s highly aware, and terrified. She’s afraid that when her façade has completely gone, she’ll be alone. Sometimes she wonders is her “friends” will still love her the way they do now. She wonders if they notice when her façade occasionally slips, and if they care.
Of course they do. She thinks to herself, not quite sure which thought she was commenting on. They’ll never accept you, never love you. You’re their court jester, the funny one, so easily replaceable. They’ll throw you out when they realize you’re no good to them anymore. They’ll think you’re too dramatic, too depressing. They can never find out. Not unless you like to be alone.
The moisture that had built up in her eyes brimmed over, making her breathing hitch and staining her cheeks and nose pink. As the tears rolled down her cheeks, she could name each one. Every worry. Every doubt.
She was so wrapped up in her reverie that she jumped when her alarm went off. Still a little breathless, she glanced at the clock. 6:32. almost time for the bus. She pushes her worries aside, focusing on her shaking hand, trying to steady it, as she applies her makeup. She uses bright colors, in a frail attempt to make herself feel better. She uses pinks, silvers, and blues. All colors that make her mood lift.
She skipped down the stairs, using almost all of her energy to restrain the gnawing depression that threatened to pull her under. It waited, coiled like a cobra, ready to spring. She walks into the kitchen, looking in the cabinets without really seeing anything. As she searched, she thought. As she thought, she realized that she fears even more than she thought before. That’s why she’s never even been herself at home. She fears of being unloved. Uncared for. Realizing this, she started hyperventilating. Seeing a perfect opportunity, her façade sprung, making her numb with a senseless joy.
Euphoric now, she glances eagerly at the clock again. 6:45. it’s time to go. Out into the cold, unforgiving world that her façade loves, and the doll fears.
She skips to the front door, opens it, and smiles wider as the cold morning wind rushes past her, her cheeks and nose once again turning pink. She dons her jacket and earmuffs. As she steps outside, she sees her friends across the street. She closes the door behind her, and crosses the street without looking both ways. As she reaches them, she gives them a big morning smile. When they finally notice her, they wave. She walks up and starts talking animatedly to them about school the day before. She was no longer the broken doll, she was her façade.





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