Walking Disaster.

1-

Being slammed down onto the floor of the mall can make you realize a lot of things. You could realize that if it wasnt for your ass, your head would be cracked and you’d be sinking off to hell. If you were a Christian you probably see angels. Gross. You realize that your ass is killing you and that the lights that hang off Bath and Body works twinkle more than the stars outside. You realize whoever knocked you down has now stepped past you. You realize that the tile of the mall floor is colder than you would expect. And when you push yourself up on your palms, the tile bites into the soft skin.

Then you realize; horrified, that people are staring. And you wouldn’t have realized any of this because you havent been knocked down in the middle of the mall to realize any of these things. And then I realize, I am me. And I can’t play a character in this situation. And I realize one word that could sum up this grim, humiliating experience. Shit.

Thats my life. Im surprised im not a hypochondriac. I brush past the onlookers hastily making my way towards Barnes and Nobles. I can’t just go to the mall and grab a new notebook. No. I have to go, flirt with death, and then get my notebook. God has an amazing sense of humor. That asshole. I stopped to lean agaisnt the railing the smell of Cinnamon filling my senses. I bend down tying the limegreen lacing tighter on my chucks.

"Did you have a nice trip freak?"

Jesus, how could have a missed that overpowering smell of the Bitch Brigade? Looking up I veiwed in this order, french manicured toes, fakebake legs, a tiny denim miny that could have fit a poodle, and too-tight Abercrombie t-shirt and the medusa face. Her blonde hair held up perfectly in a bun, that million dollar veneer smile, and those hateful gray eyes. Meet Stephanie.

Stephanie. The queen bitch since thrid grade. My enemy since birth. My sister. Prep agaisnt weirdo. She lived only a bathroom and two steps away from me. I could feel the vomit build in my stomach. My mom spent more money on her than than herself. At 17 my sister ruled my parents world. Well except for my dad. He didnt fall for her shit. Neither did I.

Stephanie was born a brunette. My mother, aka Ms.Beautyqueen, kept her own hair dyed along with my sisters died year round. While mine, balls out orange and a mess of tangled waves was left to my own hair tricks. Her posse didnt know this. Her posse knew nothing. Her posse didnt know about her binges, her purges, her hair dyes, her ugly past. Not ugly like mine. Ugly as in face wise. They also didnt know she stuffed. But you wouldn’t guess because my mom bought her those rubber jelly pads, until she could afford boobs. At least I was born with them.

I stood up, the holes in my jeans tearing even further over my ghost white knees. "Perfectly fine Stephanie? Best trip I’ve ever had." My ass throbbed as I said this, but my mask which I have spent perfecting over so many years gave away nothing. Her clones, twisted their make-up caked faces into a sneer. I felt the vomit rise again.

"Loser." She coughed. I seethed. Loser, lamer, freak, disaster, fuck-up, nobody, fat-ass. I could have exploded. But my armor, crafted out of the names, melted to steel, flew up. Her words didnt matter nobody’s did.

"Brunette." I smiled sweetly and pushed past her gaging on her sickly sweet scent.

"Im telling mom!" She cried out. Vomit flew into my mouth, the taste sour and acidic it burned me. Fear shot out through my body making every muscle go ridged, my armor disintegrated into dust. I choked it down.

 Could I survive another beating?

To all of my fans, Chivalry is dead is put on hold. I cant do that story anymore. This is my new one. Im still not sure where its gunna go but im sure its going. :] Thx! Comment and rate please. :]