So, I've started a new blog, because my others were pretty useless and I forgot about them. I also wanted this to be a proper blog, where I can post pictures and writing and random things that amuse me. I'll try to blog actively, this time! So, to start this blog, have some of my latest writing project (Imperfect):
***Warning - It's much darker than In The Shadows, so don't expect rainbows and bunny rabbits, okay?***
“Elaissia, get down here this
instant!” That’ll be my mother, I sigh.
I quickly tap three keys on my
keyboard – b, r and then b again – to let Xander (my best friend) know I’ll be
right back, and tug my earphones from my ears.
I race from my room, to the stairs, fixing my hair and clothes as I do
so.
My parents will pick on any
little thing wrong with my appearance or attitude, so I must be what they
demand at all times: perfect. It’s okay, though, because, even though they’re
tough on me, I know it’s for the best. I won’t be the best I can be without
knowing how to improve, like they said.
I reach the bottom step of the
stairs, and force myself into a walk – my parents frown upon running in the
house. I walk into the Living Room, my eyes set straight forward and my
shoulders back, the way anyone with an ounce of pride and self-respect should.
“Mother.” I smile politely, and
dip my head slightly, before turning to my father and doing the same. “You
called?”
“Indeed we did.” My dad says,
looking and sounding particularly grumpy. It was results day today, so I had to
leave my results slip in front of the television for them when I had gotten
home. I wasn’t permitted to look at them, myself, so I have no idea whether
they’re going to praise me (which is very rare) or punish me ( I’m punished at
least thrice a day, usually with physical abuse. The oral abuse is normal).
My dad is holding my results slip
in his hand, and he passes it to me. Acting in the way they have drilled into
me as right, I take the slip and politely thank him.
I turn it over, and my eyes scan
the paper:
English Language – A*
English Literature – A*
Food Technology – A
Maths – A*
Biology – A
Chemistry – B
Physics – A
Everything else is an A or an A*,
too. Most of these were mocks, but the sciences were modular – the first module
results are the ones above, and Maths and English language are my final
results. This year in Maths I’ll be doing Further Maths, instead, it looks
like.
I grin at the paper, glad that I
did so well, only to have it snatched from my grip. I say nothing, and wipe the
grin from myself. Clearly something about my results is not good enough.
“You got a B in Chemistry.” My mum
says, staring at me like she’s disappointed in me.
“I thought-“
“B’s are unacceptable in this house,
Elaissia. You’re supposed to be getting all A’s and A*’s, nothing lower than
that!” she shouts.
“I-I’m sorry…” I stammer, looking
to the ground. “I’ll try harder next time! It was just a really tough paper,
even-” My voice is cut off as a searing pain shoots through my face, radiating
from my cheek.
I don’t cry out, or even gasp.
Tears don’t even begin to form in my eyes; I’m used to being hit, especially
across the face. If I do wrong, that is how I will know I have done wrong.
Apparently it teaches me a lesson that words cannot.
“Apologies, mother and father.” I
say, my voice stable. “If I may be dismissed, I shall return to my room and
begin my studies for Chemistry right now, to make sure that I don’t fall behind
in my final year, which will begin in two weeks.” I have to tell them when the
school year will commence again, because they don’t really pay attention to
dates that are only of use to me.
Though he seems reluctant, my
father dismisses me and I sprint straight back up the stairs, my cheek
throbbing so badly that I no longer care if they shout at me some more for
running.
Only when I’m in the safety of my
room do tears begin to spill from my eyes. Diving onto my bed seems to help
some of the anger vanish. The anger I feel towards my parents, that I’m
constantly forced to push down, to forget about.
Sobbing into a fluffy cushion
from my bed helps, too, because it’s letting the hurt leak out of my mind. Constantly I find myself wishing my parents
were at least a little nicer, none of my friend’s parents are like mine.
Honestly, I despise my parents, the way they’re slobs and do nothing, but force
me to be ‘perfect’.
They inherited a lot of money
from their parents, so they’re never working, just out at the golf course or
rugby club, with their friends. And
whenever they’re home, they seem to have themselves planted in front of the
television (which often makes me wonder how neither of them are fat). They’re always demanding to know every little
detail about my life, but I still haven’t told them that I’m dating Quinn – the
head of the football team at school.
I hate how my parents make me
cook and clean for them, and go get the groceries every week. It’s like I’m a
mother myself, sometimes. They accept no less than the best with anything involving
school and extra curricular activities I take part in, either. Unless I’m doing
chores, when at home, I’ve got to be in my room, making no noise. Though,
that’s definitely better than being down there
with them.
When my phone begins to buzz from
across the room, I finally force myself to stop crying and throw the mascara
stained cushion back onto my bed as I stand up.
My full-length mirror is next to
my bed, so I catch a glimpse of myself when I pass it going over to the desk.
The image I see in the mirror constantly haunts me. Looking into a mirror, I
see a young, wide-eyed girl staring back at me. She has brown locks, which stop
just below her waist; her arms are decorated with scars, but she would never
let you know that (she constantly wears bracelets to hide them) and there are
scars on her thighs and hips, hidden by clothing all of the time. This girl in
the mirror is very tall, tall enough to be a model, but not pretty enough – her
eyes are different colours (one is icy blue and the other is startling green),
her lips are full and bright pink and her skin is very pale. She’s also skinny,
so skinny that the doctor says she’s anorexic.
Makeup is smeared across her
face, today, so I watch as she grabs for a wipe and wipes it all off, making
her skin appear even paler.
That girl I see in the mirror is
me, the ugly little brat who’s so weak she cuts herself because that pain is
easier to deal with than the pain of living.
The girl in the mirror is the
thing I hate most about myself. She is ugly, like her parents always say, but
everyone at school loves her anyway. She is ugly, and nothing can ever change
that. I am ugly, uglier than anyone I
have ever known, I am the ugliest thing I have ever seen.
I wish I was pretty.