Gold coming shortly.
Title: Untitled
Author: DiseasedHumanity
Song Used: Everybody's Fool by Evanescence, Fallen CD.
Perfect by nature
Icons of self indulgence
Just what we all need
More lies about a world that-
"Lily! Lily what are you doing? We're going to be late! Will you hurry up!"
Roll out of bed now, come on. Get up, pull back the curtains. Welcome to another lovely day at Erybodev Borading School for the Musically and Artistically Talented. A perfect day, a perfect school, perfect friends, and perfect life. Voila, c'est perfect you. Alright, pull on the dressing robe... walked across the lush, deep red carpet into the shining white bathroom. Get in the shower, turn on the freezing cold water, and lather yourself up with foamy, scented, goodness. Rinse it all up, run warm, high-quality, expensive shampoo through your waist length, perfectly straight, blonde hair. Turn off the water, step out of the now-steamy shower, and wrap yourself in a cream, fluffly towel and get out a blowdryer. Get your hair dry and full, a shining waterfall of blonde down your back. Brush it one hundred times exactly, the pull it up into a bun so it stays out of your face.
Go over to your closet, pick out a nice pair of hip-hugger stone-washed jeans and pull them on. Find a belt, silver with the word "Gemini" on it, and wrap it through the belt loops. Dig through your drawers, pull out a dark purple bra and pull it over your head. Then grab that cute little dark blue T-shirt you got at the mall last weekend and pull it over your head. Stretch your arms up and examine the three inches of bare midriff shown. Shrug your elegant shoulders, pull on a pair of white anklets, some trainers, and look in the full ength mirror.
Never was and never will be
Have you no shame don't you see me
You know you've got everybody fooled
Gorgeous sky-blue eyes stare back at you from lovely long lashes. Purse your perfect, small, round mouth critically, and get out your make-up bag. Apply a light shade of mascara, and some shiny lip gloss. Add a bit of blush to creamy cheeks, some pale blue eyeshadow, and you're ready.
"Lily! What is taking you so long! We're going to be late for breakfast if you don't hurry up!"
Roll your eyes in exasperation, just like you're supposed to, and unlock the mahogonay door to reveal the perfect friends, dressed the same and looking the same. Why wouldn't they? Everybody has to look perfect.
Now smile at them, tell them you just have to grab your bag and then you'll be right there. Run back inside your room, grab the black leather shoulder bag and a cute little pale blue purse. As you're passing the mirror again realize you forgot to put in your new hoop earrings and you lucky charm necklace with the horseshoe on it. Quickly, you slide the hoops in and fasten the catch to your necklace. Then, ready, you glide back over to the perfect friends, who enthusiastically compliment you on your excellent style and lovely clothes today. They tastefully ignore that you wore the same outfit three days ago.
You all walk serenely down to the Breakfast Hall, painted a red to match your carpet, chattering about this or that. Someone brings up the guy who's been eyeing you for quite some time now and everyone launches into a full blown explanation of why you should date him. You smile, nod, and join in, but your mind is elsewhere. Not like it matters if some guy likes you. You'd never like him back. You'd much rather someone more sensitive than that- someone you can talk to.
You walk into the Breakfast Hall, naturally all eyes turn towards you. The popular, perfect guys, their eyes appreciative, the nerdy guys, their eyes longing, and the rest of the girls, their eyes jealous and hopeful. Maybe today you'll sit with them, maybe today you'll talk to them. Maybe, just maybe. But, as trained, you turn up your nose, ignore everyone, and march to your designated table, where more perfect friends join you.
Look here she comes now
Bow down and stare in wonder
Oh how we love you
No flaws when you're pretending
But now I know she-
Grab a tray, and serve yourself some toast with a little bit of strawberry jam on top. Watch how much though, you know how fast those carbs and calories can make you gain a pound.
Finish up breakfast, shoulder your bag, and glide out of the Hall again, perfect friends in tow. Time for class, English first. Sit down at one of the cramped desks, take out your notebook, and continue on that essay you started last class. The topic- "Betrayal."
...Betrayal is one of the worst things you can do to a person. It defies their trust in you, and unravels any kind of relationship you've ever built up with that person. I've been betrayed before. I'm betrayed every day. Some people don't know it, but I am. Want to know who I'm betrayed by? Myself. My Perfect self.
Never was and never will be
you don't know how you've betrayed me
And somehow you've got everybody fooled
Finish up the essay, scan it over once. The Professor might find it a little odd, but it doesn't matter. Not now, at least. And later, when they all stare in horror, the Professor will remember this essay and wish he had acted faster. But what's wrong with a perfect essay? No need to suspect anything- it was written by you. Therefore, it is the essence of perfection. Just like everything else.
Finish up English class, pick up your bag, turn in the essay- written in pink sparkley ink- and walk out with the perfect friends.
"Lily? Are you alright? You seem a little quiet."
Smile at them, say you're fine, just tired. Nod graciously to the instant requests of massages, a night of "girl talk" and painting nails, and the offer to do your math homework for you. Walk along the cobblestones to lunch, and have a plate of salad with a light vingarette dressing. Toy around with it a little, and eat a few bites. Your perfect friends look at you in perplexity. One, all seriousness, gets up and takes you gently by the arm. She leads you away from the group, off to a more private corner of the Luncheon Room.
"Lily, we need to talk. Are you sure you're alright? I mean, you like, only ate like, one bite of lunch today. Do you need to tell me something?"
Put on a bright smile and shake your head. Say you're just not hungry today. Promise to have a big dinner and then ice cream when the perfect friends and you are all painting your nails together. She smiles, looks relieved, and then lets you return to the group. You smile at everyone, answer "yes" to their questions concerning your welfare, and sit back down. Lunch is almost over, time for math. Pick up your bag, stand, push in your chair, and enter into the bright sunlight again. Walk quickly to your math class and sit down in the front, all attentitiveness. There's a quiz today. Fly through it, this time writing in green ink, and turn your paper in first, knowing you passed. Sit back down at your desk and wait for the rest of the class to finish.
The rest of class you learn to construct right angles and perpendicular lines. It's easy, and you get it right first try. Who would expect less? You're perfect.
Class is over, walk back with your friends to the dormitories. Say you're getting a headache and go up to your room, promising to meet them for dinner. They all wave and you hug a couple, and then part ways. Soon you're back in the quiet sanctuary of your room. You pull off your shoes and socks. The carpet is warm under your feet. Someone must have turned the heat on, though it's only September.
You cross the vast expanse of your room, dropping your bag and purse, and look in your mirror. Your reach slender hands up to take the bun out and let your hair fall loosely down to your waist, a sheet of golden water.
Without the mask where will you hide
Can't find yourself
Lost in your lie
I know the truth now
I know who you are
And I don't love you anymore-
Your large eyes look back at you from the silver mirror. They're still perky, from the perfect friends. But, even as you watch, your eyes grow dimmer and dimmer. Your hair seems ot lose its shine. The beautiful room turns dark and forboding. Your eyes flick to where your school bag lies on the floor where you dropped it. The math homework you recieved is poking out of the top. Your heart fills with a sudden anger.
You're expected to do that homework. And you're expected to do it perfectly. If you even miss one of the fifty problems, you will be held accountable. Because you're perfect. And perfect people don't make mistakes. You have to do everything perfectly. You have to dress perfectly, eat perfectly, talk perfectly, look perfect, be perfect in school, be the perfect friend, be the perfect person. Well, what if you don't want to be perfect?
Your hands go up to your hair again, only this time you grab fistfuls of it. Then you yank, pulling masses of your smooth, soft, silky hair out. It hurts, hurts more than anything you've ever felt, but you have to. You rip at your clothes, tearing your brand new shirt and stone-washed jeans. Your long, manicured fingernails start to break, and when you scratch at your face they leave long, jagged gashes. You bite your tongue and taste blood. you're crying now, great tears streaming down your face. Your nose is running too, but you make no effort to quell it. You just keep scratching and ripping and tearing. You don't make a sound this entire time, because then somebody will come running.
You've fallen to your knees by now, your hair in great clumps around you, blood dripping off your face and hands. You catch sight of the math homework in your bag and crawl towards it, face twisted into a hateful expression of vengance. If you just destroy it, all of this will be over. You grab the paper, ripping it into your shreds. But it's not enough. You turn your hands to the rest of your bag, to your books. One by one you rip them apart, papers flying everywhere like over-large snowflakes.
When the bag is nothing but shreds of cloth and your papers are destroyed, you crawl slowly back to the mirror. You look at the mangled and dishelveled version of the perfect girl. Half your hair is gone, your face covered in gashes and stained with bright red blood.
It never was and never will be
You're not real and you can't save me
Somehow now you're everybody's fool
You reach under your pillow, and pull out a long, sharp knife, something you've had since you came to Erybodev Borading School for the Musically and Artistically Talented. And, finally, as it plungs into your heart through the ruined remains of your shirt, you let out a scream.
Cheers.
