The Phoenix Project

.:Pyromania three:.

~Alrightio, so this chapter may be pretty bad because I rushed through it since I have and essay due tomorrow which was assigned today and I am telling you this woman is crazy and I really need to catch up with my friends book the Obsidian Stand because this is a contest and I am not keeping up with her updates.

But with this one I am now only going to be one chapter shorter! YAY!

Oh AND REMEBER FOLKS! For a killer adventure read the Obsidian Stand!

Anyway,

Find a plush animal, get comfy, grab a snack, and enjoy!

.:Ardea Ardor:.

Perfect. That's what everyone sees me as, a perfect girl with no flaws. Not a human being, but a perfect tool. A tool for them to use. To take.

No one has ever looked at me like they see me for who I am, only as the perfect girl; who's destined for the perfect boy and together we will make perfect children. In our perfect home we will make perfection to every flaw in this world and soon enough, the whole world will be praising the perfect family.

But I'm not perfect. I don't love myself. I hate myself. But everyone loves me. They love my hair, eyes, face...body. They love my smiles, attitude, style, grades...the fakeness they never see.

I don't want to live with what is called reality. I want to keep pretending that everything is okay and I live in a big castle with parents who tell me that I am beautiful and myself. That I can be whatever I want to be, go wherever I want to go and marry whomever I love.

But the word okay is the on the border of being bad. Asking if your okay is like asking do you need a doctor? Help? A psychiatrist? They look at you as if you are a dead skunk in the middle of the road. It's something you don't want to change because then you'll smell afterwards.

That's what will happen to anyone who learns anything about me. They'll end up becoming part of the problem. The one with the knowledge.

I tell myself everyday that I will stop. That I won't enter through the door and down the steps into the small musky room. That I won't light the first candle. 

I always do though and I don't know how to stop. It's a natural feeling to  light the candle aflame and to watch them sway with the breeze. But no one knows about this and no one ever can.

------

"Hey Ardea!" A small boy near the age of fifteen runs past the crowd to my locker waving a newspaper frantically in the air. After minutes of being trampled he bends over to catch his breathe while holding out the black and white sheets of paper. His green eyes plead me to take it.

I carefully unfold it and then wait for him to explain. We end up staring at each other longer than what is considered normal. I finally speak up, "So what would you like to show me?"

Confusion is written all over his face freckled face and he scrunches up his nose in response. "You're on the front cover!" He shouts.

I stiffen but don't show it for then I wouldn't be perfect no more. Staring at the front page I find that the bolded headlines read, 'smartest girl to ever live'. What type of headline is this? It sucks.I scan over the article hoping to find something interesting but to my demise, there is nothing.

"Thank you for showing this to me Shawn," I  then frown, "How come your not in here?"

He's taken aback for a minute with hand over his chest, "Me? Why would I ever be in a paper so big?" Shawn snatches the paper from my hand walking away furious probably hoping for a pretty girl to follow him and ask what's wrong then you'll find them cuddling in a corner. That boy is always angry about something and if he has nothing to be mad about, he finds something.