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isabellaspace

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There were hundreds of us, in every direction. We were brown, green filth. People were crying. Screams off in the distance were apart of the normal ambiance. Those men and women in those clean cut suits stared down at us, smiling those reptile-like smiles. They knew they were better than us. In every way. Somewhere in all our hearts, we knew this to be true. What were we anymore? We were just a number.

I raised my hand timidly, looking around me at all the other students. My eyes shifted back and forth, scanning my peers, and their blank faces. No one else looked like they knew the answer, or cared enough to say it. So I held my hand up high, and kept a determined look on my face, staring at the teacher. He called on me, and I answered in a clear voice. But. My answer was wrong. Everyone snickered, and I felt my face go red. My eyes dropped to my sneakers. "Hey," the teacher called out to the class. "Don't know why you're all laughing. It's not like you had any answers." And with that, he turned back around, and continued writing on the whiteboard. Everyone shut up, and I felt the biggest grin stretching across my face.

I stare at myself in the mirror. I hate myself. I hate my face. It's one huge blemish. I stare endlessly at myself. Me. Who at I am. I can't take it. I look into my eyes for minutes on end. I can't see through them to the horrible person inside. They block it all, making sure no one can read me. Know who I am. I scream and ram my palms into the mirror, shattering it. My broken image falls to the floor.

She sits atop a castle. A pink castle filled with all the most wonderfulest things in the world. There's a pillow room, a bunny room, and even a cupcake room. Her long blonde hair spills down in cascades of ringlets and waves, and she waves at all little people below. But she falls, tumbling down the side of the castle. The people below don't make a sound as she plummets to the ground. She screams, her dress coming up in front of her face in huge ripples, blocking her view. She startles awake to a gray room, her body drenched in sweat. She climbs out of bed and goes to the bathroom.

I sneak under the streetlights, their orange glow casting a shadow on the gun I hold. The gun is black and cold and heavy clutched in my fingers. I hurry up to the window, no lights on inside. Holding my breath, I peer inside. She's asleep. I exhale and open the window- just barely so the barrel of my gun fits inside. I aim at the sleeping lump on the bed. Tears run down my face as I see her blond hair and peaceful face. And I pull the trigger. I tip, falling, and collapse on the wet ground. Everything leaves me.

writing since 2011 · 24 entries · 24 days shown up

each square is a day—lit means Isabella showed up.

3longest streak

24days written

0.5entries / week

on this day 15 years ago

Isabella wrote about tires
“So. Tired. I rest my head on the table and pass out. Frikin' hate biology.”

the words Isabella reaches for

faceeyesroomheadredhandhatecastlehugehairinsiderainclothesskinfloorgreen