Chapter 36 | Monsters like me

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Chapter 36🌌:

"Don't take enemies for friends,

You wouldn't marry a murderer,

So why make deals with the devil?"

I had given a half-hearted apology to my friends after finishing my momentary nightmare in front of the mirror, and now I was angrily typing some form of a poem on my laptop. Pride was wrapped up on my lap, asleep and taking up most of the room, while I sighed in the deep sense of opposite euphoria, the entire time desperately trying to avert my eyes away from the flaming pile underneath my pillow.

"Some girls are dripping in diamonds,

Some girls are dripping in pearls,

I'm the girl dripping in blood."

I had only had one lesson after lunch, but my mind couldn't have been higher up in the clouds, as I couldn't think of a single thing I had done in that hour. A sick feeling had been gradually growing in my stomach with the pre-guilt of whatever I had done, the slight uneasiness eventually leading to welling a large lump in my throat. I knew I did something to some girl, and my lack of memory of the event meant it couldn't have been very good at all. I knew it would have been much worse than me just yelling at a child, so I was praying I hadn't introduced her to the stars.

"Most people smile at my name,

Most people love the thought of me,

But most people would kill me if they knew."

I took a sip of my lemonade, feeling the bubbles trickle down my throat in a burning sensation to match exactly how I was feeling. Burnt out. I watched the glass slowly steam up as I brought my mouth closer to the rim and breathed heavily on it, and then I watched it slowly wisp into nothingness. It just proves that not everything that leaves your lips has to last forever, as eventually people will forget - and forgetting means non existent, just like steam on glass. Not once in my life had I felt so strange, and I just hated that I didn't know exactly what was wrong with me. I liked to know what is going on so I could manipulate it to my taste, and I preferred oranges over lemons.

"It feels like a play where everything is scripted,

But also like a pantomime where I want to laugh at myself,

Because I am the star being gloated by the moon."

Downstairs I could hear Annika watching the TV at an obnoxiously loud volume, occasionally sending a shrill of a laugh to knock on my door. I never usually had to leave any doors in the house shut because no one ever really was home, but ever since Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee, my door had never regularly had its handle meet the wall. It's crazy how two people can make a house feel much smaller, but it's also crazy how two people can make your life feel much smaller. Emptier.

"Legacy always outwits living,

But bloodied stars outwit legacy,

And pride jumps in to help."

Despite how much I longed for my life to be eternally remembered, and have everyone celebrate that with me during my state of living; everything was starting to seem more and more pointless. Of course I definitely wanted to keep my attention and constantly gain more of it, but this strange feeling made it seem much sourer. It was like I had a secret garden, I could go in and out of it as I pleased, perfectly happy with myself and its privacy - but I also knew that somebody else was going into that same garden and digging up all of the roses and always leaving before I could see.

"It's like being an orphan in a house with a family,

Wanting everyone to notice you, even though you are out of place,

But it's clearly a hard knock life."

It was exactly 9pm, meaning the dragging feeling of dread only had to last another twelve hours. I stared out of my bedroom window, as I still hadn't moved my mum's pink curtains from a pile on the floor. Typically, the clouds were covering the darkness of the sky, and not even the starlight could break through it. I sighed and stroked Pride, not willing to look at the half-invisible mutt that was there when I did what I did. Whatever that was. Twelve hours of torture until I would get my letter and it would be the hear all and end all of the situation, or so I'd hoped.

"You don't know who the demons in angels are,

so stop smiling at them in the street.

Monsters like me use that as fuel,

so don't take enemies for friends."

Taking a final swig of my lemonade, I clicked on the post button. The world could now see my anonymous anger, anonymous confession, anonymous truth. But anonymous means silence in some words, and I was sick of silence.

I reached down once again to pet Pride, but I felt an absence on my lap. Reluctantly I looked down to stare at the once beautiful dog on my lap, and bit my lip to prevent myself from wanting to cry out. My little beastie was trembling and I could hear it letting out small whimpers in some disturbing pain.

There sat in my lap was Pride. But my pride was now much, much smaller.

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