How to Write: One-Shot Collection

A Big Facade

AN: This is just Short. Really. Really short.

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                It’s mentally and physically exhausting. I’m tired. How long do I have to suffer for people who are not even grateful for the all the things you do them? How do they manage to tell lies to other people? To make others believe in something that has never been real.

 

                So much anger pulsating inside her veins. It’s an overcoming power that sometimes she thinks a very black aura was lurking around that anyone who dared near her will scurry off. She’s so mad. She’s so angry. She’s so much afraid of herself. This is not her. But she can’t control it and what’s more is that other people might get hurt because she’s so mad. How do you control it? She closes her ears and tried blocking out everything even her own thoughts. All she can hear is the deafening sounds from her earphones. Music calms her. But there’s so much anger, hatred, madness and she just wants to destroy something to stop the madness.

                Fast tears are pouring down her face. Her eyes close. Thinking that probably by now her face is beet red. Her eyes bloodshot and the ugly dark circles under her eyes are bigger than ever. What could she do? She can’t stop them. It won’t stop and everytime it stops her brain will remind the emotional pain she’s always in.

                An overcast shadow loomed in front of her. She was unaware of her surroundings, much so to the footsteps that was coming towards her. She doesn’t like it when other people see her tears. When other people see her in her weakest state. She didn’t want pity. She didn’t want others to know what it felt like to be her. She doesn’t need more constant reminders how her life is worst than living in hell.

                The tears automatically stopped. Her sobs were always silent. She’s use to it by now. Not even a small sound can be heard when she cries. Not even a stain on her face can say she cried harder than she did when she was born.

                Instead of doing something about the person who saw her she chose best to ignore. Hiding her head in her knee with the help of her floor length hair when she’s sitting, her face can’t ever be seen. The presence didn’t leave she felt it right next to hers, “You know my Dad use to tell me that a girls tears are worth more than diamonds or gold,” it was a man’s voice. With her current situation and emotions everywhere, she’s embarrassed more than anything.

                “The only time I remembered my Mom crying as bad as you are right now was when she got a call from Dad’s commander saying that he might or might not come back alive,” from the sigh he had escape she can sense the hardship he faced, along with his Mom, “My Mom cried and cried and cried. I’ve never seen her so weak and vulnerable like that. She kept on praying and praying,” there were movements and for a moment she stiffen, “When my Dad came home with no scrapes or bruises, she cried harder and told him how much she loves him,”

                “But a girl like you shouldn’t be in a dark corner with her head low and silently crying,” the boy stood up and left, “Don’t beat yourself up. Don’t bottle it all. The world is too big for you to carry it in your shoulder,” with that he left with one last look.

No one ever truly cared. No one ever understands. That’s why she bottles it up. Occasionally, she does self harm to release some pressure. She had always been lucky because there were no visible scars. But she sometimes wishes that the visible ones are much better than the ones that can’t be seen.

                It’s time to stand up and once again put on a big fake smile. It’s once again time to face the reality she has always wished that was a bad dream, a bad nightmare. It’s time to be once again the person she’s always was not. Because the big façade helps her hide it. Because sometimes hiding it is better than showing it. People won’t look at you and think you’re okay. They might only think you’re crazy and all you just want is unwanted attention. But sometimes the façade is the one thing you need that makes you think everything is okay when you know deep down it’s not. It’s never okay. It was always not.

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I'm just really depressed. I need to write this or I will berserk. Can I say it's base in true story? This is exactly what I am feeling right now.

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