Seventeen Years Young
"Art is not what I create. What I create is chaos."
Colors (Stripped), Badlands
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Everyone has a story to tell. She did too.
Rosalyn Carter was not the person she is now. She was different. For one, she didn't have to try so hard to lead a normal life. Her life was not complicated, not so much anyway.
But one night, something happened. Something which was enough to spark up the beginning of a catastrophe. Enough to wreck lives. And somehow, enough to make everything come crumbling down.
Subsequently, nothing was ever the same.
"What have I done to myself." I mutter as I look at myself. Frowning deeply at the lifelessness my eyes held. "They're right. I've changed. I've become a monster."
She stood behind me and ran a hand through my hair, giving me a gentle smile. "No." She stated firmly. "For me, you're still the same Rosalyn I knew two years back." I smiled at her. "But, the sexy tattoos are a completely different story." She added quickly, making me chuckle.
A small smile played on her lips for a second before it faded away, and she paled, almost as if she had seen a ghost. "They're here Rosalyn." She whispered. "Run."