The girl was alone.
She would sit on the bench at school and watch the others go by, with their friends. The girl had no friends. She just sat there, day after day, wondering if anybody would ever like her.
But one day, they visited her bench.
"Don't you want to be popular?" they asked her.
"I do," replied the girl, quietly. Smiling, they pulled a wristband from one of their pockets and placed it around her wrist. SNAP. The fastening clicked. It didn't really fit her; it hung rather uselessly off her slim wrist, but it wasn't so loose that it could slide off of her hand.
The girl was popular.
They surrounded her always. Every day they piled her arms high with clothes she must wear to stay popular. She obliged, and obediently came to school in designer jumpers, tiny skirts and make up. But soon the girl realised she didn't like the clothes, and one day she did not wear them.
"Don't you want to be popular?" they asked.
"I do," the girl reassured them. The wristband tightened.
The girl was popular.
Every day, they brought new music for her to listen to to stay popular. She accepted the CDs and put them on her iPod, listening to them when she was with them. But soon the girl realised she didn't like the music, and one day she did not listen to it.
"Dont you want to be popular?" they asked.
"I do," the girl protested. The wristband tightened.
The girl was popular.
Every day, they came up with new tasks for her to accomplish to stay popular. She listened to their list and chose some things to do from it. But soon the girl realised that she didn't want to do these things, and one day she refused to do so.
She looked down at her arm with the wristband wound tightly around it. It was so tight now that it was hurting her. She grabbed it and tried to yank it off, but it could not fit over her hand. It was becoming tighter by the second. The girl bit furiously at it, in a panic, trying to get it off; it was cutting off her circulation. Her hand was slowly turning purple. They stood opposite her, laughing at her screams, watching her clawing at the wristband frantically. The girl knew that if she didn't get that band off soon, she would die.
"Dont you want to be popular?" they asked.
"NO! I DO NOT!" she yelled, and she stopped. They stopped. It all stopped. The band melted off her wrist. She breathed once, twice, letting the blood flow back into her hand. And then she went back over to her bench and sat down, watching the others go by. With their friends.
The girl was alone.
