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 Eyes an autobiographical short story.

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PostSubject: Eyes an autobiographical short story.   Eyes an autobiographical short story. I_icon_minitimeWed Mar 10, 2010 3:58 pm

Sapphire blue eyes peer from beneath a thick curtain of dual-hued hair, the chocolate and honey colors warming her painfully pale face. Her eyes seem so cold, so distant, even as there is a smile plastered to her lips. The ear-bud headphones plug death metal deep into her brain as she tries to ignore the ache inside. No one knows she's hiding, those eyes, so harsh that none can meet them, are the only way to tell. Her hair quivers as she tilts her head a bit to the left, shifting still to hide her face as she becomes focused on something else entirely. Her fingers skim through her hair, not trying to move it, only feeling the silken softness that no one knows it has. She knows the thick line of eyeliner she put on this morning is long gone and she considers fixing it but wonders at the point. No ones looking at her anyway. She fidgits with her glasses, hating the damned things and wishing she could afford contacts. Lost in her moment of vanity, she suddenly glares at her ink-stained hands, wishing they were clean. From there she looks to her lap and scowls even more as she wishes she could lose weight. She shakes her head to banish the thought, the movement only perceptible by the shuddering of her hair. Her voice aches to be used, she's far too quiet, she hardly ever even talks anymore. Yet she wonders if anyone cares. She wants to just scream at them, tell them all what fools they are. She aches, and her hand twitches, to press a blade to the throats of those who mock her, those very same who made her turn the cool blade upon her own wrist. She knows they will never understand, just as she knows they will never change. Her mind begs them to provoke her and give her a reason to unleash the terror, the whole other person dwelling within her. The angry one, all of her pent up emotions manifested into a nearly tangible form. She never understood what it meant to let out your emotions, only to keep them from others. That she learned from her mother. Taught to never show what was hiding just below the surface, taught that that alone would keep her safe. Too bad that's what is killing her, driving her insane. Not that anyone notices though. The jealous rage, the self-loathing, the misery, they don't notice any of it even though it all rests just behind her eyes. They are the reason her eyes are cold. Too bad everyone's afraid to look. She is the seven deadly sins all rolled into one, Greed, Gluttony, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, Lust, and Pride, Wrath and Envy being her favorites, her most prominent and her most used. She Envies those prettier then her, even if it's her best friend and her Wrath comes out on paper mostly, or on the punching bag at home as she envisions the face of another upon it. Her hands know only ink and blood. Ah but she is a vision of grace in her movements, despite how inwardly focused she appears. So surprising for such a brute. Her voice is a melody from God himself, when she chooses to use it, but she never does. It's just too much effort to censor the thoughts threatening to pour from her opened mouth. And censor them she must, lest she wish fro trouble. No, it isn't worth it. She wonders if it even matters, or if she's even half as vicious as everyone thinks she is. Not that it would matter if she wasn't. No one bothers to stop and find the kind, gentle girl who loves easily, hidden beneath the cold exterior that keeps her safe. The web of lies, sardonic humor and jovial grin are everything she wishes tobe ture of herself. She's forgotten so many aspects of herself to try and keep up this fa├žade. The two fears she claims, both false. What she truly fears she will never voice, but all her close friends know. She looks at her wrist, the skin smoother and paler then the rest. Only a few scars still stand out, but there are so many more that blend together. All because of her true fear. The fear that no one understands.
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