A Recipe for Evil

Start from Where the World Is

"As an organizer I start from where the world is, as it is, not as I would like it to be." Saul Alinsky

Amy Miller has always been a woman with big dreams. Her head is always up in the clouds. She functions in a world of her own. She has built most of her life around hopes and wishes. She is constantly thinking of tomorrow because the truth is that most of the time she can't stand the present moment.

Recent events have changed her perspective.

Life is not a dream. It's an outrageous continuous nightmare. Being hit by a car is the closest metaphoric equivalent of having to face its reality. Surviving the impact is life changing.

At times, it comes in the form of a death. Others face it through witnessing a horrible event or by hearing terrible news but, sometimes, it's something that can seem, to the observant, much less significant. For example, it could be the lost of a special object given by someone dear, a tear dropped by someone you always thought to be strong, the first appearance of a gray hair or, maybe even, the selling of a house. For Amy, it had been simple words harshly whispered into her ear, pushing her off the edge of the cliff she had been shakily dancing over for the past few months.

Those words had killed a part of her and, not unlike the phoenix, a new being was born out of the remains of her previous self. 

On the last day of her school break, she takes the decision to go to the nearest mall to buy h clothes that are fitting for the role she is about to take.

She has previously studied her school's cheerleaders' wardrobes through the meaning of her Facebook account. Most of them let their profiles opened. Amy is pretty most of them are too brainless to know how the privacy settings work and, in cases like the one of Myriam's, it's probably simply out of pure narcissism.

She has decided to settle for a style that could be described as a crossover between the ones she has seen in her research. It's a bit plainer, in her opinion, than her usual attire. It's simple yet sexy and feminine. It's a little between Clarisse's and Myriam 's way of dressing: chic, eye-catching, and sweet.

Amy is currently wearing a low cut navy blue dress which beautifully embraces her body and exposes her long graceful legs. She is shuffling through pieces of clothing when she overhears two girls talking in a conspiring tone.

"Have you seen her lately?" One of them says to the other in a high-pitched voice.

"Yeah, she was at Jack's party. She was drinking alone in a corner like some kind of loser. She threw up all over the bathroom's floor. I saw it after. It was so disgusting. Then she started sobbing pathetically. Jack had to hold her up because she kept on falling to the floor. Can you imagine? At his own party!"

The other one squeals with delight. Amy squints and bites her lip. She is suddenly filled with the need of fulfilling an insane form of curiosity. She bends forward and tries to take a peek at the conversers, almost toppling over a pile of sweatshirts in her eagerness. It's two fellow classmates: Meredith and Kelly. Both of them are cheerleaders. They aren't of the most popular breed but they are cheerleaders nonetheless.

She can't help but to step into their view and ask them:

"I'm sorry to interrupt but of whom exactly are you talking about?"

The two of them blink a few times, looking confused. They glare her way.

"And who are you?" The one named Kelly asks her.

"I'm Amy Miller. We attend the same school."

Meredith scrunches her nose. She turns towards her friend and speaks in a low whispery voice.