Bad Together

• | 12 | • Daguerreologue

DEFINITION | an imaginary interview with an old photo of yourself

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Rosalie Jenkins

I can't say I am surprised when my mom made me stay home the next day. I mean I had completely broke down twice in front of he so she would be stupid to send me to school the next day.

She didn't even want to leave me at home alone and constantly tried to persuade me to come with her to work.

I refused nicely.

I wanted to be alone in my own space where I could think about things. More specifically, my behavior and terrible thoughts.

The incident really took a toll on me and my life. I couldn't even walk anywhere without looking over my shoulder in fear that they were lurking around the corner waiting to come and kill me.

I envied Zion for not feeling anything at all. How did he do it? He walks around not giving a fuck about anything so that made me think that he didn't care.

He doesn't care and that is why he isn't affected.

Would I be able to live if I didn't care? It's hard to not show your emotions and I know that from experience in the past.

Would I be the girl I see in my thoughts? Rose. Would I be the badass girl who feared nothing and strives to get what she wanted?

Am I innocent and naive?

I mean that is what they all think isn't it? I'm just some stupid little girl who doesn't know shit. Why can't they see that I am broken? That I am finding it hard to live, to wake up in the mornings and endure my same boring life over and over again.

Everything in my room was together in one piece and intact. I hated it, It shouldn't be like that. It was wrong. They were all in a fever dream.

How could I be so broken but the things that should be broken are so intact?

My wooden fairy was still on my shelf looking innocent and happy, living the old color-warped life I once had years ago. That is not me. I killed someone, I am a sinner, a murderer.

I had stared at the fair for long enough to the point where I saw its lips moving to form words. What the fuck?

I thought my eyes were deceiving me until I heard it speak.

"You killed him"  The lips move once again, taking me by surprise. My hands dropped just like my stomach did.

Could anyone else hear it? Stupidly, I turn around to check if anyone else heard it but then I remember that I was the only one in the room.

So I am crazy.

"Do you not think I know that? I said I'm sorry" I clench my fists by my sides. Why can't people see that I am sorry?

How do I prove myself to be sorry? Yes, I am 100% guilty and I know that. I fucking now that and it's not like I'm hiding the fact that I killed someone.

Well I might be hiding it from the cops..

"The cops are outside"