Emotions are overrated (EDITING)

Emotions are overrated (EDITING)

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Have you ever felt like you had no emotions for anyone? That you couldn't care less if your family member, friend or literally anyone died? You live off the feeling of other people's discomfort and pain? Chloe Hale. "If you all could describe Chloe Hale, Hollywood's sweetheart in a few words, what would you say?" A reporter asks. "Chloe - Chloe Hale is a daddy's girl." "A 17 year old with a kind heart." "A girl with big dreams." "A great child actress." "She's definitely not what meets the eye." Chloe closed her eyes as she imagined what would happen if the reporter had asked her that same question. "Now how would Chloe Hale describe herself?" The reporter smiled at her. "Oh!" Chloe said, showing her all too white teeth. "I'm a monster." She said whilst looking into the camera. _____ Hollywoods sweetheart. That's what they called me. That's what they all called me. They built me up to be this princess, with a perfect attitude and a perfect life. But of course, when the curtains are down, the doors are locked, the makeup is off and that all too familiar fake smile slips off, it's always different. Chloe's life was a special kind of different. I mean what's better than killing a few innocent people after a long day of work? People are all hiding behind a fake mask we all know that. But who would ever imagine Hollywood's sweetheart was more like Hollywoods serial killer?
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Heart

Her name was Gabriella Quintanilla. She was a senior in high school during this time. She had the looks, all the boys, the popularity, the clothes, and even the grades. And in no way was she ignorant of any of these things--quite the opposite. She knew that she was above average in most categories of life, and had no problem reminding people repeatedly of that fact. I'm not going to lie---I didn't like her. Not at all. To be completely honest, I threatened to kill her with my bare hands. And the scary thing is, I meant it. I wanted her to die. I imagined dark fantasies of the light fading from her eyes right before my own, her pleading for me to spare her life. And in my fantasies, I wouldn't listen and I didn't care. She had tortured me for five years and I was utterly and simply sick of it all. Sick of her. My animosity towards Gabriella was no secret among my peers. Not many people liked her, so it's not like I stood alone on the concept. However I was the only one who voiced a threat. THE threat. The threat that got me on a suspect list in some cop's notepad. They want to know if I killed her. If they knew the whole story, would they blame me if I did? ©Copyright Timara M. Lewis 2013

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