Perfect

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: November 12, 2016

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Submitted: November 12, 2016

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A A A


My crystal green eyes reflect back at me through the mirror. Purple shadows hang underneath them, making me lookk sick, disgusting. I open my mouth, grimacing at my yellow-stained teeth and practically nonexistent, cracked pink lips. My tangled brown hair falls limp and flat against my shoulders and I glance down, tugging at the sleeves on my baggy gray sweatshirt. That's when I notice her, chuckling behind me in the corner. A sickening grin spreads across her face as she glides across the room in one stride, placing her long, tan fingers on my shoulder, her blood red fingernails gliding softly against my collarbone. I stare at her through the mirror, admiring the image of pure beauty.Her eyes are the same emerald green like mine, but there are no purple shadows or dull hair to be found anywhere near her. She has olive skin and perfect, glossy rose colored lips. Her hair is formed into an elaborate waterfall of glistening chocolate curls, and yet she still wears the same ugly, plain sweatshirt that I wear. But even so, she is still truly, utterly perfect. And of all things that I could feel, I feel jealous. I want to be her, to look and feel as confident as she is. She looks just like me, but I know that I could never be anything remotely close to what she is, no matter how hard I try. My eyes find the floor, trying to distract myself from the image of perfection that lingers behind me, but it's no use. I give up and turn to look at her through the mirror. She smiles, flashing her glimmering white teeth at me, and laughs her high pitched, melodic laugh. "Why don't you just do it already?," she whispers into my ear. She speaks in a voice that is strangely similar to mine. "You're not worth anything anyway. What's the harm?"

  My breath gets caught in my throat. Her words swirl around in my head, making it harder and harder to think. I look down again, trying to make her think that I can't hear her. But I'm listening to every word. Her hands reach down to my shirt sleeve and yank them up, revealing the scars that run up all the way along my arm. Her red nails trace up and down, feeling te bumps that the blade has left. "See what I mean?," she says,, and I hear the smile in her voice. "You are the saddest thing I have ever seen. You're just a pathetic coward. Nobody likes you." She bends down and quietly spats, "You make me sick."

  A single tear slips out of the corner of my eye as I stand in the shock of realization. She is right. She shoots me another flawless grin as her hand reaches down into my sweatshirt pocket and pulls out my knife, which is stained with a thin line of my blood. "Do it.," she whispers. "Do it."

  My hands begin to shake as I slowly pull out the blade. A small whimper escapes my mouth and I start to tremble. Her hand grabs my wrist and brings the knife up closer to my throat. "Do it."

  Another tear drips down to my chin as the blade touches my throat. "I never liked you anyway.," she spits. And our hands join together into one, sawing the knife back and forth across my throat, listening to the sound of blood drip down my chest and her sickening laughter echo in my ear.


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