Bits and Pieces

Beautiful Her

The door opened. She walked in. Her earphones were in, to no surprise. She smiled a little. It was a temporary mask. Hiding those unsmiling green eyes. She isn't really happy, not at the moment. How can you be considering her situation. Music seems her only respite. Most don't take a lot of notice of her entrance. A couple of heads look up, see if it's someone they understand, that they get. Sadly, I suppose, they were not looking up for her. Except for one. That specific one smiled. A really huge grin, containing excitement and general giddiness. She gets up and goes to give her a hug. Now they are both smiling. This was a real smile. Not at all a mask. Not even a hint of it. They sit down and start to talk. Again, to no surprise, about music. And that weird cat game, something to do with mementos? Also apparently our main she is a little shit for having more? No one else pays them any mind. And neither of them could give less of a shit. They have a weird relationship. Almost romantic you could say, but only if you weren't really looking. It's more of a platonic love (from what I, a mere writer/narrator can tell). They adore each other a little bit, or a lot. Probably the latter.

Anyway, back to the girl who walked in. She wasn't sure of herself. She acted as if this fact took away from her as a person. That she was automatically less. To clarify, it didn't. Not even kind of. She still had pretty green eyes, and dark, slightly messy, hair. The tip of her nose was still a 'boob' nose (it doesn't even look like a boob). Sometimes she cared about that. The other girl reminded her, it actually doesn't. Oh, and there they go again. Our 'main protagonist' is having her nose 'booped' as they call it. She isn't laughing yet. But she will soon. Her laugh though. It starts the same way. Every. Fucking. Time. A little bit high pitched, but not too much so she is squealing in the most annoying way fucking possible. From there is when it changes. It either stops, or it keeps going in that same fashion. Or. If you are really funny. She goes into automatic hysteria. She will not stop for at least three minutes. There may be breaks, presumably so she can remember what it was that she was laughing about. And then it dawns on on her. It's still really fucking funny. So she laughs some more. Those laughs were usually saved for her best friend, admittedly only. During all this laughter the best friend is usually thinking, "I am actually so funny," or "She is a fucking idiot."