Walking in the hall of high school, masses of students passing you by. Some recognized you and wanted to compliment your stylish clothing. You answer in a sickly, sweet, high-pitched voice,
"Why thank you. You're so nice."
Really, you felt bile rushing inside your throat.
Pink, glitter, glossy makeup, and hairspray covered your entire body. Everyone sees you as this preppy, bubbly girl who reigns on sunshine and rainbow. You see a group of money-packing, gossiping, airheaded snobbers who claimed to be your friends. Sometimes you never understand why you even hang with them at all. Disgust ravages within you like a beast, but the authoritative ignorance suppressed it.
While you bear the sounds of whining unicorns overlapping the concrete jungle, you notice your old group of friends, your compadres, your nakama, your people having fun with each other. They're a reminder of who you once were before falling deep into the abyss of never-ending darkness. A reminder of the old you. You knew full well how you hated pretending to be the "it" girl, the pop posh princess when you're really not. What happened to that wild, crazy rocker who would blast Evanescence and Guns n' Roses right out of the boom box, never caring for the many complains coming through the neighborhood.
Yeah, those were the good ol' days. Now, you don a mask in order to hide the innermost thoughts wanting to break free. A mask full of lies, deceit, and discord.