♡THE STORY OF ELECTRA HEART♡

It’s so strange to look at myself in the mirror now. Instead of my dark flowing locks, my hair is the color of sunshine. That’s certainly ironic because I am not happy at all. Of course I can’t gaze at myself for long or else my image disgusts me more and more. From the pocket of my jeans shorts there’s a buzz. I whip out my phone to check the message, and it’s a text from my best friend. Electra Heart. I know the name makes her sound like some kind of character, but she’s the realest person I know. If you met her you would fall in love.

            With the body of an hourglass, she shocks people just by simply being. Lush, full lips and a round nose. Eyes that will light up your life. Her hair is her most noticeable feature. She likes to have several inches of dark roots showing which morph into a bottle blond, and generally the transition area is masked by a ribbon around her head. What makes Electra herself is the little black heart on her left  cheek that she always wears. I have never seen her not wear it. There was a time where I was convinced that it’s a tattoo, but when I asked her she just laughed at me.

            Before I could even respond to her message, there’s the sound of a door slamming.

            “Marina where the fuck are you?” sings a voice from downstairs.

            “I’m coming Electra!” I shout back.

            I race down the stairs to where Electra stands in the entrance of my house. She’s wearing a 60s-inspired baby pink jumper and of course the heart on her cheek.

            “You look pretty hot as a blond. How do you like it?” she questions, taking my hair in her hands.

            “It’s different, but it’s cool,” I respond.

            “It’s not you though,” she whispers in my ear.

            And she’s absolutely right. Truthfully, I only dyed my hair because she suggested the idea. My Greek father nearly murdered me for it. The color just doesn’t suit me.

            “So what are we going to do today Heart?” I ask.

            “Break boys hearts. What else, Diamandis?” she replies cheekily.

            With that, we exit my house and make our way into Electra’s car. A 1965 Corvair convertible in cherry red that would make any car lover swoon.  We both hop in, and she pops in a CD. It’s Britney Spears of course. We both have an undying devotion to her because of her teen queen status. For show, she revs up the engine a couple times and we head off. I rummage around in the glove box to find a half empty pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Two are selected and I spark up the lighter to make the cigarettes glow. Electra makes her pastel lips an o-shape and I place one of them in. The other goes into my own mouth, and the foul yet addictive taste of tobacco fills it.

            I remember my first cigarette. It was in the baby stages of my friendship with Electra. I choked so violently on the smoke that she thought I was going to pass out. Thank God I didn’t. Back then I was so terrified of her not liking me or ditching me all of a sudden. My older sister, Lafina, warned me about Electra Heart, and she’s in college.  Everybody in our town knows about her.  I’m just the shy sidekick.