Blarbs

4. Perfect

-"Mistakes are expected, but hurt nonetheless/ Told to reach perfection, but that isn't our best"-

It was so messy...

I frowned at the rusty prison bars, scratching my nails against the marks almost absentmindedly. Small slivers of paint were peeling off already. I hummed in satisfaction, feeling the small bumps run against the nail tip. It was becoming clean.

Wait, no. I snatched my hand back, rubbing my thumb against the hem of my shirt. No, you hate perfection, remember? You hate it.

My other half, the one still under control of my mother, disagreed. That side revelled in the pristine A's on my report card. The bleached white walls of our house that I would obssess over cleaning.

The ones that now had black markers and paint covering it.

My parents screaming when they saw I had a 95% on my calculus test.

The disappointed looks on their faces when I tied for first place at my dance competition this morning.

My own hand pushing aside the things on my desk later on, watching them slam down on the floor, and me reaching down to clean it up again.

I tried to take my mind away from those angry thoughts, but the last memory popped back up again.

Their shocked faces a few hours ago when I finally snapped. My arms were scratched and bruised from trying to blemish my perfect fair skin.

I curled back up again in the corner of the cell. They weren't going to bail me out. They don't want an imperfect daughter.

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Authors Note- So this is something I wrote in writing club a while back. It was fun and all, but the leaders got a little too busy the second semester so now its canceled. *sniffle*