As Pia came home, she stopped to look at herself in the mirror. She sighed, looking down at her small framed figure. Her frazzled hair stuck out at the ends. Her legs, tiny like polls, had no muscle on them. The bags beneath her eyes got bigger everyday. "Undesirable," she thought throwing on sweatpants and a sweatshirt to make her look bigger.
She rested her head onto a nearby pillow. Pia swung her legs up on the top of the counch's cushions, barely making a dent in it's stuffing.
She wasn't prepared for what was to come, whatever that even was, and did not want to try and steer from the group. The group. Her only friends. Even if they weren't the best of people, at least she had someone to sit with. It didn't matter that they didn't ask about her, she didn't matter. "As long as I can make it for nineteen more months," she thought to herself. "Yes, just nineteen more months and I can leave this place." The idea sort of thrilled her, to leave, to excape this depressing place. Her prison of 16 years. The place where the population flurrished. No, not flurrished, killed. Population kills.
That's what they don't tell you at school. That nothing they teach you will ever matter. That humans are selfish and only just want to survive. Because all they are doing is lying to themselves. They are trying to believe that they are changing something, when they don't have a significant life in the slightest.
"Maybe it's not good to have all of these depressing thoughts late at night," she thought. "Oh well. Too late now."
12/15/14
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts
Short StoryThis is where I write whatever comes to my head. Not interesting. Or worth your time. In fact, you shouldn't be here anyway. This is for me, because I am a twat. There is no point in me writing this. An existential crisis awaits.
