Jet black hearts. M.C

chapter 1

she doesn't realise how late it actually is, she has been sitting there for hours, but what is a few lonely hours for the girl with the broken soul.

no one cares, she decides, while watching the sun disappear behind the low burning of the candles in the window, they light up in a dark red colour, almost identical to the colour of blood, it's a pretty sight.

nobody's home, no one is ever home, it's been so quiet in the flat for a long time, she isn't even sure as to where her family is, only a bit concerned, but it's quickly cast away.

she looks down at the blank paper, staring at it, almost like she wants something to appear, nothing does of course, she frowns almost disappointedly at it, that doesn't stop her from smearing red paint over it in a aggressive manner.

it's almost completely dark, only glow outside is from the lampposts that is all the way down the street, the candles are on the dead side, only one is still flickering with light.

smoke fills her lungs, she holds it in for a seconds before blowing it out, slowly, watching the smoke curl as it's being breathed out in the room.

she wonders if this is what art looks like, if this is the life she is suppose to live.

she takes a long drag and watches the smoke again before throwing it out of the window. finding it disturbingly beautiful, a killing machine, she knows, but she can't help herself as she takes out one more, lighting it with the last flame of the almost burnt out candle.

her music is playing, but she almost forgot, to caught up in her brooding.

'will a pretty face make it better'' she smiles as the words from the song catches her, shaking her head, she chuckles gleefully and puts the pencil to the paper, making the blue conflate with the red, making a bubbly purple colour, that could almost fool anyone into thinking that what is going on in her head, isn't destructive.

it's been a week since she interacted with another human, but she feels like it isn't worth her while, locking herself up, it isn't like anyone has even bothered to call or text.

they are all too busy with boys and parties, something she has never felt the desire to do, sure she can see the appeal in having someone there, but not really the part about drinking your brains out, and having meaningless sex with random guys because they find you attractive, just because you have low self esteem and can't see that they really don't care about your feeling, you are just a hole they can fill.

but they get their hopes up anyway, thinking he will call, HAH.

the stars aren't visible and the night air is cold, but she can see a plane flying by, and it makes something stir in her, hope, someday that could be her, sitting up there, looking down at the world, knowing that all around, people are walking around, in their small lives, feeling like they have to walk faster, that being busy gives them a purpose.

she doesn't really get it, why would you hurry around, not taking time out to really understand what beauty there is around you.

she pouts and pushes the paper away with great force, getting paint all over her hands, feeling all the inspiration and motivation leave her body.

pushing herself away from the table, her chair rolling further into the room.

she stands up and stretches her arms over her head, letting out a displeased noise that sounds oddly like a whine.

looking around her room she frowns, she doesn't like it, the way it looks so girly, with all the pictures and the pink walls, it reminds her of a 12 year old girl with an obsession for boys, it's almost so painful that it makes her laugh, the sound coming out hoarse from not using it for days.