His blood on my hands

Jamia nine

It's the morning of the ball and I still don't know if we're going. I've decided not to stress about it. What happens, happens, right? The ball starts at 8 so we would only need to leave at around 5:30, if we're taking the jet. I sit on my bed and watch the ticking clock. I do my laundry and I clean my own shoes. I learn to tie a tie and then I try the dress on again for no reason. I feel so useless. Just wasting time, wasting my life away. But, what am I to do? I suppose I could get a job. I picture myself standing in a pink frilly apron in the coffee shop by our house. I'm making the same cup of coffee and waving goodbye to the same 7 customers. And I get the same amount of money with the same boss who says, "Mondays, am I right?" every week. Then I'm back, staring at these same four walls. Just with a bit of color now. What's the difference? In that scenario, I would have enough money to live in an apartment by myself. Get up, go to work, work all day, come home in the dark, watch the small television then eat pasta from the cramped kitchen. Again and again and again. Maybe two years down the line buy a dog to keep me company. Then, ten years later, treat myself to a car. Then the dog dies. Then I don't have enough money so I sell the car. I run out of that money soon and get a loan from the bank. Then I spend the rest of my life struggling to pay back the loan, and pay my mortgage. Then I die.

There's a planet full of deep oceans, purple skies, deep valleys, high mountains, record stores and tall trees. Yet, most people just repeat the cycle of work, struggle, false happiness, struggle, die. I could be having snowball fights, dancing under the stars, watching the sunset or sneaking out and having picnics. But I will eventually end up in the cycle. And the only way out will be to die.

I hear a knock and it's a maid.

"You're aunt and uncle are calling the pilot so, I assume you are going to the ball. I thought I should let you know." She says, smiling shyly.

She's sweet for telling me.

"Thank you." I don't even know her name.

She nods and leaves. I take a nap then get ready. I put on the dress and some heels, along with a thin, silver necklace. I also put on a bright yellow bracelet. It's Belle's. I must have packed it in my suitcase by accident, since I was in such a rush. Maybe I can give it back to her. I shouldn't get my hopes up, though. I doubt she'll come. I decide to take off the heels, because I could barley handle them for thirty minutes. I put on some simple canvas shoes and shove the other aster into my bag.

I hear the jet starting so I jog up to the roof. My parents are getting in and I step inside after them. We sit, awkwardly facing each other and the two and a half hour ride begins.