The Makeover

1

Edited

"We create false images in our minds to try and blind us from reality because we know that if we uncover what is real, it will beat us until we shatter."

-BrokenHeartedGirl-

A year before the real disaster...

I arrived at school just as the warning bell for the beginning of classes blasted through the hallways. Panic immediately rose in my throat begging for an escape in the form of a scream.

Seconds later the traffic packed up, filled with masses of moving students forcing their ways to their next classes.

Tommy Turner fell to the ground as a group of jocks barricaded past the rest, making it even harder to navigate a clear path through the turmoil. I managed to slip past them moments before I would suffer the same fate.

The rest of the commuters were my next problem. They were approaching like the group of wildebeest in The Lion King, threatening to trample me.

As soon as I made contact, they shoved me out of the way as if I was an annoying pest. Nothing was different about it. They always did on mornings like these.

I only took in a breath of fresh air once I was stationed safely in a plastic chair at the back of my History class.

The next few hours were divided into two situations: times when I was tripping over my own feet and times when I was tripping over others. I paraded around like a zombie on stilts - perfectly awkward and clumsy in an equal ratio.

As the bleak torture continued, it seemed as if the day held my practically non-existent luck in the palm of its hand. My ponytail was constantly drooping; my glasses were always slipping off the bridge of my nose - nothing was going right as per usual.

None of the thirty people I had "known" since freshman year spoke as I handed quizzes out in Physics. And boy, did they love to speak.

During lunch, I found myself wandering into the janitors' closet and there, the awful stench greeted me with open arms.

My eyes never left the floor as I walked through the Maths wing. If years of trying to make eye contact with my sister at school had taught me anything, I had surely picked up that my siblings acted as if they were forced to be a part of my life. Meaning the less contact, the better.

When the school day ended, I walked home in the pouring rain with no umbrella. The morning had started off with the sun streaming through my window, yet there I was with enough water soaked into my clothes to enter a wet t-shirt contest.

After receiving an awkward "hello" from my brother, I tried to smooth the lines of surprise from between my brows and in response slipped on an old Christmas sweater as soon as I was in my room. It smelt like pine needles and apple pie - a smell that always brought back memories of a simpler time.

I had never really been a fan of change so whenever there was a slight difference in my day, I would slip on that sweater and find some sort of escape. My psychiatrist told me it was a coping mechanism that I had developed over the years.

After dinner, I was safely tucked away under my blankets, snuggled next to a bag of skittles and reading Harry Potter softly to myself. Only once my eyelids began to feel heavy, did I close them but seconds later, a brief sound filled the empty air.

Sorry we couldn't make it home, honey.

Mom told Diana to bake a cake. It's in the kitchen.

Dad

The text brought a sudden pain to my chest and I sunk further into the sweater I wore.

What a birthday it had been.