As she drove down the dark and empty streets of Wisteria, she contemplated why she made this decision. Why was she ending it this way? Why did it all go so wrong so fast?
She remembered. The dollhouse. The facade that she had to put up for so long, this was her only way of tearing it down and escaping.
" Cally Davenport, 17, daughter of Ron and Tracy Davenport found in the front seat of her car, dead." That's what would be reported in the paper, the paper her family owned. She drove down to her tranquility, the swamp. Musky and damp, yes, but it was where she could be herself, and where she did everything that was forbidden in the dollhouse. She had smoked her first joint there, however terribly created, she had had her first hit of coke there, she even downed a whole bottle of scotch there once. None of these things numbed the pain. Yes, drugs and underaged drinking are both bad, but when you have to deal with the dollhouse you need something to help you escape.
So she drove there and sat, spending her last few hours of life in peace. Away from the tyranny and oppression of the dollhouse.
