To be perfect.

"Me....?"

She loved history, of course, she loved a lot of subjects. But history, that was her favourite. Her table, her teacher, and her imagination. "Okay, so. Why did the police never catch Jack the Ripper?" Called the teacher, Mrs Copperfeild.
Whilst a few hands crept up, she closed her eyes and pictured it. That dark, deserted streets of Whitechapel. The the rats, scattered along the gutters, the smell. The blood of the women.
She opened her eyes, and raised her hand. "....yes?" Asked the teacher, slightly shocked. "Well the women were drunk, they were out of sorts. They're eyes must have been rolling..." She imagined the eyes rolling, like gone off milk. "...they didn't know what to think, and it was they're job right? So they had to finish the... Deed..." People chuckled. She continued - "they never wanted to become a prostitutes, they did it to support there lives. Maybe, Jack the Ripper had said something to them, like when a women is lovestruck, she doesn't know what the heck she's saying. She's blinded by the glory and almighty feeling of being in love. Jack may have been the lover to the tale, obviously he must have been out of his sorts, but maybe he was mad, to be in love."
The room was silent.
She was silent.
"Hmm..said Mrs Copperfeild, that's a great input."She laughed and then stopped herself. "Actually, that's really good, you can have a credit."
I was shocked, "me....?" She whispered, feeling her face burn up. And knowing that she was going red, made her even more red.
She didn't like putting her hand up - she never did.
After the bell went, she walked to the same place she always does, the corridor. Nothing exciting, but she would sit there, with her headphones in, and pretend to read. Not exactly pretend, she would read it. But she wasn't focusing on the words in her book, she never really read a book, well, she could. But she wouldn't get sucked into it like her best-friend would. she was focusing on the words in her music.
She loved music. She loved it more than anything, she loved her "friends" and family but music, music was the only thing she could relate to. Because, she didn't like her life.
Or her for a matter of a fact. She hated herself. Actually, something she could relate to. Was the floor. Not such as a bedroom floor, but as in, the ground of an old park; cold, dark, grotty and ugly. .
The reason she could relate to it was because, she was always getting stepped on. She couldn't help it. But, she would let people step on her. Because she stepped on herself. She overthinks. She over thinks everything. In fact, that's kind of important, remeber that. She overthinks things. And she knew she other thought. But that didn't stop her from making herself panic at the thought of somthing.
She had a name, everyone does. But she referred to herself as Stolen. And of course there is a story behind that as well, it was that when she was a little girl; blinded by the everlasting smiles, she would steal sadness. Whenever her friends were down, or worried, that's when she wore the Cape. She would fight, seeing them happy made her heart light up. So she calls herself stolen. And she loved it.