Looks Are Capable of Murder

Bertha Johnston was just your average girl, but a gorgeous, skinny, smart, clear-faced, sweep-males-off-their-feet kind of average. She has what seems to be an infinite amount of ex-boyfriends who she left for the same reason every time, they treated her bad, then they got what came to them. No one really knows what Bertha means by ‘what came to them’ but everyone just pities her and moves on, as does Bertha, though she always says how much she dislikes boys.

Why can’t I be like Bertha? Why is she so perfect? These are a few of the things Bertha hears on a daily basis by those who believe they are not worthy to even know who Bertha is. Most of these ‘unworthy’ folks are her female classmates who also believe that Bertha’s entire existence was figured out by angels and goddesses, who write with the most precise of penmanship, onto a touchable, feelable, oh-so-aesthetically-pleasing silk.

If only the unworthy ones knew the true color of the silk of existence.

Blood red.