Better Than This

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
Emile Grant is an icon. Staring in an award winning film at the age of twelve, she became one of the most talented young actors of her time. Now, at sixteen she's still acting and no stranger to fame. But is that a good thing? Or will it lead Emile straight to the end of her career? Or worse, her life..?

Submitted: August 07, 2008

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 07, 2008



Emile sat down at the computer and pulled up Google.
She typed into the browser and clicked "Search."
Results98 600 000.
She looked down the results.
List of Suicides - Wikipedia.
Her name would be on that list soon. She sighed. The media is going to have a feeding frenzy on this story. The young aspiring actress who tragically ends her life. Unexpected and shocking. She laughed bitterly. None of them would really care though. Sure they mightsend cards to her family and post comments onlineabouthow talented she was, how sad itis thather life was cut short.But in time they'll find another story about someone else and forget all about her. Good. She thought to herself. She didn't want their attention. All she had wanted was to be in a movie. She smiled sadly remembering the day she found out she got the part. She was so excited, jumping up and down screaming for joy. And it was great. The time she spent making that movie were some of the best times of her life. And the sales for the film went through the roof! But everytime someone bought the movie, they seemed to think they bought a piece of her too. Suddenly Emile had realized first hand that fame wasn't all it was cracked up to be. There werepeople everywhere, all the time.Interviews and Red Carpet Events. It was good for a while, really fun. But then everyone wanted her. Magazines, fans and the tabloids. It was overwhelming. Too overwhelming. That wasfour years ago. Now Emile was still making movies, but she wasn't just that cute little twelve-year old with the amazing acting talent. Noweveryone was pressing her to behot. A sex symbol. Butshewas refusing. She wanted to be known for her talent, not for being a slut. But the pressure to be sexy was hard on her and she was slowly starting to transform against her will. People were picking out her clothes for her and doing her make-up, even her parents were pushing her to mature. She would come home and take one look at herself in the mirror before breaking down crying. This wasn't what she wanted, but itfelt like she didn't have any control.
It seemed like the only way. Everything was so...Emile strained for the right word. Loud. People, places, everything. It all just felt like noise to her. At night when she would lay down to sleep, that would be all she could hear. White noise. But she could stop it. She would stop it.Emile leaned her head on her hands. How? She didn't care about the pain, she could barely feel anything anymore. Pain would be a welcome. She decided on a gun and stood up. Her father had a gun in his den. After all, you have to have some sort of protection if you're living with Emile Grant. She made a pitiful attempt to laugh thinking about how regular her name is.But for some reasonpeople raved about how beautiful and exotic it sounded. What a joke. She walked down the hallway to the den. No need to sneak around, her parents room was in a whole different section of the house. After removing the gun from the den and checking the magazine,Emile took it back to her room.She put the gun on her bed and pulled out a pad of paper. Time for the note. She thought as she took out a pen.
What to write?
Mom and Dad,
Don't blame yourselves, it's not your fault.
She stopped writing. No, that's not right. Since it is their fault. She ripped off the paper and crumpled it up. About to throw it in the trash she stopped. She didn't want anyone reading her lame, reject suiside notes. She crumpled it even smaller and shoved it in her mouth. She waited for it to get soggy enough to swollow while she wrote another letter.A half hour later and Emile was still trying to get down the first note. Shegathered up allthe castaway notes and carried them to her bathroom. She filled up the large sink with hot water and threw them in. They floated on the surface and Emile went back into her room to find somethingheavy enough to hold them down. She spotted her cellphone on her desk. Her dad had gotten it for her at Christmas. He made sure she knew how much it was too. Woops. Emile thought as she dropped it in the sink on top of the papers. The plunking noise it made when it dropped in made her smile. There goes $600. She stifled an actual laugh. Right down the drain. She left the bathroom and sat on her bed beside the gun. The papers would take a while to dissolve, so she would have to wait a while to do it. No doubt the bang from the gun would wake them. Sure. She thought. They never pay attention to me, except when I don't want it. She decided to wait till dawn to do it. She laid down on her bed and waited.There was no threat of falling asleep, she was way too hyper, but in a soothing, calm way. It was odd, but now that she had decided her fate, she was at peace.
Morning came with a bang forClara and Edward Grant. The sound of a gunshot brought them straight out of their peaceful dreams and into reality. Their immediate thought, Emile.Could someone get in without activating the alarm system? The thought as they rushed to their daughter's room. It seemed so far away now.Clara thought. Why was their baby so far away from them? They finally made it to her room and burst through the door. Clara screamed. A sound sohorrid and gut wrenching thatone of the maid's later said they thought Mrs. Grant was beingmurdered right then and there.Emile was lying on the bed,unrecognizable. Blood was everywhere. On the bed, on the walls, all over Emile. In the bathroom was sink filled with paper mush and on the desk across the room was a slip of paper. A letter.
To no one is this addressed.
My final words are these,
We can do better than this.

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