Belle's Need Love Too

Hello wattyworld this is my first story. I hope it's everything you ever dreamed of. I love writing, but I have alarmingly distant attention span, thus, get quite distracted.Motivate me to keep it movin', otherwise watch it flop. Without any further ado, I present to you the 1st installment of Belle's Need Love Too. (title may change several times)

   As my mascara trailed its way down my face, into a pool by my collar, I stared and watched it. This, I might add is the most superficial form of self pity in existence. It's improper of a lady to let her makeup run dry, and do nothing, I inwardly mocked my Mawmaw. Though, I hated her many rules on how to be a proper lady, I still heeded them. I started by first running my fingers through my long chestnut-y hair,  an action  which reminded me as to why I stood in this dingy grey second story, high school bathroom. All for the fault of my hair.

  Lemme run you up to speed shall I? On the night before, I washed my hair,  (as any decent citizen of any country esp. Good Hair America would) , straying from my normal routine I negated to flat iron my lovely locks. Instead, I braided my hair in a neat crown around my head, held in tact by several wrapping bobby pins. Satisfied and exhausted I crawled into my lacy, pearl pink Victorian style bed (handmade in Paris). In the morning, I woke up with the sun creeping through my window casting flowery shadows on my floral and striped walls, the floor, and into the hallway.

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  Reluctantly, I hobbled out of my dreamy cloud bed, and into my soft, pink slippers and proceeded to stumble until I reached my bathroom. On arrival I opened the pristine white, pocket door, with hot clammy hands, and walked in. I sighed, only to taste morning breathe, as I unbraided my now dry hair in my foggy mirror. My curls were perfectly gorgeous, they were partially ringlets, while possessing a definite wave pattern. I twisted my hair in clumps by the ends with my fore and middle fngers. When I was pleased by the effect this technique provided on my entire head, I spritzed my hair down, then applied mouse strategically. I finally did a Tresseme Commercial hair flip, and went on about brushing my teeth and cleansing my face. I did my natural  makeup with a red lip gloss to polish of my look, and found my frilly over priced attire for the day.

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  I arrived at school, chauffered by my Mawmaw as is usual for Monday's. Due to the fact that my peers insist upon being so insolent, and judgemental, my presence was all but welcomed as is every morning (but Monday's in particular). I puffed out my chest as I inhaled an air conditioned breath. My stomach churned at the very thought of such taunts awaited me on exiting  this luxury vehicle from Germany or Italy I supposed. I looked to my yellow toned grandmother, awaiting a wise phrase to falter her mouth. I studied the subtle wrinkles about her face, and the green veins adorning her neck like a map of rivers and tributaries on slightly crumpled map of parchment. Her fire engine red finger nails tapped the steering wheel adorned with leapord print. Her hazel eyes smiled as she caught my nervous inquiries.

"Remember, Svana even our dear Lord Christ endured persecution for his riches. Luke 23:34 states clearly ' Father Forgive them, for they know not what they do," she began to encourage.

    Her simple quote gave me the strength to get outta this car, pick it up and thorugh it in my enemies faces. She giggled, and I caught myself making an expression simialar to that of John Cena in her rearview. She rolled her eyes, and we reached in the back seat to collect my several bags. Mawmaw grabbed my Dooney and Bourke handbag with the graphic beach scene, my lunch bag (which to her distaste wasn't designer, but got the job done), and attempted to heave my bookbag from Coach  to no avail. I laughed at how out of breath and red faced she was while I grabbed it from the backseat in one swift motion.

 "You young folks how I will never comprehend, she whispered to herself," as I laughed along and exited her vehicle, my gaurd slighly less intense than before.

     As I positioned all of my cargo, She managed to squeeze in another verse stating "Cast not Your lots before Swine." Ah, words to live by, I internally concluded.

  Her red car rounded the winding path from my school's driveway, and I sudddenly felt completely nude and vulnerable, with probable cause...