Counterfeit Children (KURT COBAIN)

1. slyboys

i don't think i had a lot of teeth then, i was six and frizzy dark curls surrounded my face at any given moment.

that was, unless my mother could catch me.

"ouch!" i screeched, reaching up at the hand that forcefully grabbed ahold of my hair and firmly tied it with a rubber band.
"it pinches!" i whined

a common wedding flower, tossed into elegant bouquets held by beautiful bridesmaids, this was the case for my mother's wedding.

a pricey 500 gardenias filled the church. atop tables, crushed into petals, in the hair of the bride's mother.

a panoply of white flowers that littered the church yard until summer turned to autumn.

i was born that winter, just 6 months after my parents wed.

his mother and father lived next door, and i was born three months before him.
they split up and moved, but our mothers stayed friends. he would come over while they chatted over coffee, or tea, while my mother was pregnant with my brother, and he would snuggle my pet cat while i begged him to play outside.

he didn't like going outside nearly as much as i did. the pale blond hair just slightly lighter than his skin would only get lighter in the sun.
i got dark. olive skin slowly turning brown for the month there was sun in southwestern washington.

fifteen springs had passed since my first.
fifteen times did the gardenias bloom, but this year, i did not bloom.

i was a late bloomer.

the bell rang at montesano high school every hour, on the hour.

and every hour, i got trampled.

it was almost as if they didn't see me.

"gardenia!" my algebra teacher yelled from across the room.

the bell had rung, and everyone else had gone, it was me alone at my desk in the algebra room.

"you get to bed late last night?" she asked. i nodded and grabbed my bag, quickly leaving the room.

algebra was my worst class, but it was also my last, so i felt a strange excitement for it. even if i just was excited to sleep.

i rushed through the empty hallway, out the dreaded red automatic double doors,

there's a theory if the double doors don't respond to your presence, you aren't really there.

i waited until someone came inside to leave.

slyboys sat with skateboards in a cigarette haze.

"hey gar!" he yelled as he dumbed down his days, his young rich days of wasting time. he still had that god awful bowl cut he did when he was three.

i fluffed it as i sat beside him and there was a fundamental alrightness to everything.

"you and kurt a thing now?" one guy asks.

"ew!" i yelled.
"she's practically my sister, sicko!" he exclaimed. i wrapped my arm around his shoulder, pressing my mouth to his cheek, and i blew a raspberry.

"get off me bitch!" he yelled, one hand rushing up to his face and the other smacking me off of him.

he wiped my slobber off his cheek with the sleeve of his jacket and laughed.

"you guys are siblings," another guy said.

we both nodded.

"i love her even if i sort of hate her,"

"thanks dick"

(creds to my very own fake baby sis MadiElderen for helping me with the title)