At the gym:
The corridors were bare not a voice was spoken not a footstep was heard not a breath was taken. Except my own obviously. I fumbled around for the light switch taking small and cautious steps using the wall as a guide so not to bump into anything. My fingers run over a cold piece of plastic with a switch on it. I flick the switch and blinding lights fill the corridors simultaneously. I made my way down the corridor my footsteps thundering on the ground under my heavy weight and then echoing down the silent corridor the only sound to be heard I got to the changing rooms and put on my gym gear my sports top and some Nike shorts. I shivered as my bare feet touched the icy floor and I began to make my way towards the practice gym to warm up.
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Perfectly imperfect
AléatoirePerfection. It's what everyone desires what everyone thinks they need to be. Perfect. But is anything perfect. Can someone really be perfect. No. But can Melissa realise this before its to late
