Picture Perfect

Teen Idle (1)

"I wanna be a bottle blonde,
I don't know why,
but I feel conned,
I wanna be an Idle Teen,
I wish I hadn't been so clean."

Chapter 1

idle

2. without purpose or effect; pointless    

~

Why is it so hard to find love?
A person to love and care for you.
Anyone.

I am tired of love. Tired of trying to have something unattainable. Something impossible to receive. I want to be a version of perfect. A idle to all. An inspiration. But how do you get there with a name like Amissa? Amiss means for something to go wrong. I was made wrong.  I was made amiss, and named Amissa. So, to escape what's so wrong with me, I call myself Electra, I'm Electra Heart. Electra is who I aim to be, a role model that isn't really real.

All my life I was doing something wrong. I am wrong. I'm a joke. I feel like I wasn't meant to be made. Grandmother always says that everything happens for a reason, but the reason I'm here has never appeared.

In school I ate lunch with empty chairs, and learned at a faster pace with no distraction. I graduated early at the age of sixteen. Without money, and hope, I simply stayed home. My mom was an encouraging woman, who was the best mother she could be. Her own mother tried her best, and hers too. But there is no manual for raising children. There were faults that'd leave dents in hearts and minds forever. Grandmother was molested, my mom was molested. I never was, I assume it was because my mom said that what you do not tell, will shoe up in your children. She's right. Except, when you wait too long to tell, then it appears. As mom was suicidal, and as was I.

She slit her wrists and took too many sleeping pills. She had realized that this wasn't what she wanted, before it was too late, and called 911. I didn't know. I didn't know she didn't want to live. I didn't know she wanted love too. I didn't know how bad it was till it happened to me. And that was 6 years ago.

A year later, I moved into the city of L.A. It was nice. It is nice. I got a job at a local vintage shop called Groovy Kidz. I work full time and on weekends, I party. Clubs seem to be the only thing that make me happy now and days. The drinks, the happy people, and the party vibe is exciting.

It's a Friday, and you know what that means, its time to go down to 196, the club downtown. 196 is where everyone goes. Even celebrities. The owners know me by name, Electra at least. They say its unusually beautiful, my name. It's a pity how much time I spend there. But it's my happy place. The only place I can let go, and be myself.

I yell a goodbye to on the owner of Groovy Kidz, a 67 year old woman named Marjorie, my best friend. She is one of the wisest people I know.

"Bye, Marj! See you on monday!" I called out.

"Oh, see you soon, Electra!" She yelled back in reply.

My small studio apartment was only a short walk away. I lived alone, which was fine with me, since I was alone almost all of my life. The only other thing next to clubbing, and Marjorie, that made me happy were my social networks. Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram, you name it, I had an account. When I had scrambled up enough money to get my iPhone, and Mac, it was just a way to get feelings out, but when followers came, and people seemed intresred in what I had to say. This was now a hobby of mine. As I pulled out my Mac from underneath my pillow- it's a hiding spot of mine, and logged on, I sang a song under my breath.

"You've been acting awful tough lately,
smoking a lot of cigarettes lately,
but inside,
your just a little baby, oh,
it's okay to say-" I was cut off by my phone.