The Grim Reaper's Daughter

Chapter One

                                                                Death is easy. It's living that's hard.

Another day. Another day of mockery. Another day of nothing but judgment. This is what Bree prepared for as she applied the black make- up to her pale face. The color black was her refuge, her friend. She felt that it was a sort of protection... protection against the harsh words that the people of Pleasant Oaks have always thrown at her.

"She's psycho. She's crazy. She needs to be put away," they would say about her. They stared at her rudely every time they would see her, but the make- up would allow her to pay them no attention at all.

After applying the make- up, Bree looked at herself in the mirror, her face emotionless... set in stone. In her mind, she wondered what it was about her that repelled people. Although her features were dark, complimented by the make- up, she knew that she could at least be considered mildly attractive. Her black hair, which was naturally blonde (YUCK! she thought), flowed down her back neatly and gracefully. Her eyes were dark brown, but the black that surrounded them caused them to stand out from the rest of her face. She stared at her attire... a tight black knee- length dress that hugged her body, which was not as curvaceous as the slutty Pleasant Oaks Cheerleaders, but it was okay.

So what was it about her? Oh yes, she remembered. It was because of her quietness, her slyness, and above all, her love of the color black... along with the fact that she wasn't in anyway similar to what her mother had been. Speaking of her mother, A knock on the bathroom door startled Bree as a woman, attractive to be in her mid- 30s, opened it.

"What's the point of knocking if you're going to barge in anyways?" she asked her mother, a woman that she once favored in appearance (AGAIN, Bree thought, MORE YUCK!). Her mother's hair was blonde, but her eyes were blue. Bree had obviosly gotten her eyecolor from her father, but her face shape was almost identical to her mother's. She knew that this woman was the exact opposite of her when she was in school... popular, outgoing, cheery... Bree cringed at the thought.

"You're going to be late for school young lady, and oh my, when are you going to lay off the black?" she asked, looking at her daughter rather disgustedly.

"I'm leaving in a minute," Bree said dryly, ignoring her mother's comment about her appearance.

"And make sure you come home after school. I'm so tired of hearing the people at my job talking about how much time you spend in that cemetery," 

"Mom, they've been talking. You should just do what I do and ignore them," Bree slid pass her mother and ventured to her room to gather her things for school. Turning, she found her mother standing in the doorway, staring at her disappointedly.

"You could be such a pretty girl, Bree... if you do something with your hair and get rid of all the black," she spoke. Bree took a strand of her hair self- consciously, examining her features and her attire to decipher what was wrong.

"I  didn't realize that I had to have blonde hair... or blue eyes... or wear colorful clothing... or be a cheerleader just to be considered pretty. That's too much work, Mom." Bree became overwhelmed with emotion, for not even her own mother considered her beautiful. Bree stormed pass the woman, for she felt the tears threatening to gather in her eyes, and she refused to allow her mother to see her cry.

Bree moped down the street, the tears in her eyes battling her inner self in order to stream down her face. But Bree remained a warrior and refused to let the saltwater ruin her shield, her black make- up. If she allowed this to happen, she'd be vulnerable to the words that the town through at her... that her mother threw at her.