Diary of An "It" Girl

“You won’t believe it, but I heard that our little Josie…” It was the voice of the Queen Bee herself: Victoria Reynolds. She was as beautiful as she was treacherous and her eyes made one hang on every word. The clique surrounded her, obviously entangled in their own curiosity for gossip. Their bubble gum colored lips and heavily applied eye makeup was all flawless. They were the “It” girl wannabes. They were always in the shadows of Victoria and her.

Josie stood in front of the lunch table and in front of their judging eyes. Her spot was still unoccupied to the left of Victoria, but she didn’t take it. The girls’ faces were awestruck as they turned, noticing her arrival. “What did you hear, Victoria?” she asked. The question flowed off her tongue like poison, a trick she had learned from Victoria herself. The knife wound in her back was nothing new, but it always hurt the same. Victoria was a gossiper, its queen. She always had the dirt on everyone and whether it was true or not, every student listened and believed until proven otherwise.

Victoria plastered a sickly, sweet smile on her face. Her thin lips spread, wrinkling the bottoms of her cheeks and her green eyes hid something far different from friendship. “Come sit with us, Jos.” Her hand patted the faded blue chair beside her.

“You know,” Josie began, her own eyes sweeping the table. “I think I would rather not.” She pushed her black ringlets out of her smoldering blue eyes. She pursed her lips. “Why won’t you just tell me what you heard?” She kept her head up and shoulders squared. The very reason she was an “It” girl was her determination and ability to stand up to Victoria when others failed. But they were far from similar. Victoria represented the sexy bitch that got everything she wanted. She was a con-artist and she was a professional manipulator. While she was straight up, honest, and stubborn. She tried to be nice to everyone that deserved it. No, she wasn’t an angel. What teenage girl was?
Of course, she knew Victoria gossiped. She knew all the horrible stories and rumors that could be spun in her mind and trickle out of her mouth. And she knew that she shouldn’t take it so personally, but she had had enough of it. She knew Victoria wanted to wear the title as if it were a tiara. She knew that Victoria was sick of competing with her, but her downward moral spiral was beginning to thoroughly piss Josie off. She couldn’t just stand there and let her reputation come into question.

All of the amusement washed out of Victoria’s features. The words wounded her like a bee sting as that smooth, honey-like voice stated, “You’re pregnant.”
Josie stared in disbelief at the girls before her. Victoria never ceased to amaze her. Her puckered lips jutted out further turning into a mocking pout. And those eyes… Those eyes were shooting poisonous darts at her right now. Josie claimed the spotlight; so, she gave her head a little shake and muttered, “Now where did you hear something like that?”

She was on top of the world. She had won over all the other girls. They looked curiously back to their leader, waiting on an explanation, but surprisingly Victoria didn’t falter. “Well, that’s what Randy told me.”

There was no hiding now. Victoria had gotten to her. Randy—her boyfriend—why had he mentioned something like that? It was obvious how fast leadership was handed back to the Queen Bee. Just the looks on their faces showed her. They were smug, and she was two seconds away from punching those smirks right off their plastic faces. She made her face into a look of disbelief, so confident that she was sure it would make Victoria doubt herself. She narrowed her eyes. “That is bullshit.”
They stared at each other for a moment. The intensity radiated throughout the entire cafeteria. They were receiving looks now. People were trying to get a better view of the battle. Then, Victoria tilted her head to the side. "Well, why don't we ask Randy." She smiled.

Josie turned around and found her boyfriend. He, as well as his own entourage, walked up behind her. Randy smiled at her and greeted the table. He went in for a kiss, but she turned her cheek. She imagined his boys exchanging glances behind him. "Babe," He glanced at her sideways. "What is it?"

Josie took her stance. This would either turn out very well or not at all. She took a deep breath and said, "Victoria, do you want to ask Randy about what you told me?" She tried to burn holes into her “best friend’s” cornea. She briefly imagined her in an eye patch but banished the image before it could detract from her serious demeanor.

Victoria plastered on her sickly sweet smile as Randy wrapped his arm around Josie’s shoulder. She moved closer to him: a unified barrier against Victoria's stupid and immature stings. "Randy, isn't it true that your missy is a little…" she cleared her throat and dropped her voice for dramatic purposes. "Pregnant?"

She felt Randy's arms tighten slightly around her. "No, Vicky. That's not what I said at all." Something about his voice was different. Something was off. Josie pulled away slightly to look at his face. Randy gulped audibly and continued. "I said you might be."
Josie was bewildered at the words that had escaped her boyfriend's mouth. She was ready for him to turn around and call her out for being a liar, but what he did was so much more severe. Their entire table, as well as the entire cafeteria had grown silent. The looks on the wannabes' were unmistakable. One thing was going through their minds: Could Victoria Reynolds, the "Queen Bee" of the senior class, really be... pregnant?

She turned to Randy. "How do you know that?"

He looked away from her. So, she repeated the question. Again, he didn't respond. Almost the entire cafeteria was staring with open mouths now. "Randy, did you cheat on me?" Even before the words rolled off her tongue she knew she would not like the answer.

His brown eyes found her and he nodded.
And as easy as that, Josie was back on the bottom. The only question that remained was who her company was.

Without thinking, she reeled her arm back and thrust it forward as hard as she could. It landed on target. His nose was crushed and blood streamed out and onto his God-like lips. "Jos!" He screamed. Blood had squeezed in between his teeth and he sputtered with it. "Josie, I didn't mean-"

"Actually," Josie began, cutting him off. "You did."

She turned to glare at Victoria, who was having enough issues dealing with her news. She looked as though she might actually cry. "And you." She let the word snap like a belt against flesh. "How dare you." Josie's face had twisted into an unattractive snarl, but emotions had overcome her. Savagery was all she felt. "You lying, conceited, fake bitch."

She turned on her heel and pushed past her audience. She knew the last word had stung worse than the others. No one called Victoria Reynolds a bitch, or any of it at all. Especially not her “best friend.”

The lockers blurred together a little as she clicked through the hallway in her new boots. They were Jessica Simpson. She took extra special care of herself this morning: she had perfected her curls and wore the outfit she had designed herself. She was in a short lilac sundress with her new black and buckled boots that clicked in the hallway: a great attention grabber. Her makeup was perfect. She had felt like Sophia Bush, and now...

"Josephine?" It was an unfamiliar voice, but nonetheless, she turned around.

"What?" Josie spat. She hadn't meant to sound impolite but she was just not in the mood.

"Uh," The boy looked down and held out the oversize black studded bag. His shaggy brown hair dropped into his eyes. "You, you left your p-purse."

"Oh." She smiled apologetically, taking the purse. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sna-"

"It's ok." He returned a shy smile and walked away.
Josie reluctantly turned back to her locker and dialed in the combination. Hitting the last mark, she tugged on the hunk of metal. Frustration hit her when it didn't budge. She fumbled with it. Again, it didn't unhook for her. Her hands were shaking down. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, just willing it to open. Why wouldn't it just give her a break? Seriously, after the morning she had been through? She gave a final tug and it swung open easily; books created a waterfall out of the depths.

"Do you want some help?" It was the same voice, but it was much further away now. She looked up, meeting the same emerald eyes as before. She shook her head and dropped to her knees.

You are stronger than this, Josie, she told herself sternly. What would Momma think if she saw you like this? You are a pathetic excuse for her daughter. Man up. The scolding continued inside her head and her hands just sat useless in her lap. The firm pep talks were futile.

A hand appeared on the ground, and knees bent beside her. Rough calloused hands held out her physics book. "I know you don't need me to help, but I-" his voice trailed off, unable to find a good excuse. She brought her eyes up to meet his. They were calming and cautious. Even a little sadness was hidden behind the brilliance. He tucked in his lips briefly and smiled.

"Thank you," she said mustering a strong voice. She faced him head on. "I can manage from here."

She brought her chin up, letting her pride show through. She stood up with the books in her hands. Her grip slipped slightly and her expression faltered with it. She grimaced but struggled to banish it from her face. She was a strong and able woman. She was.

He chuckled under his breath and slipped the last notebook on top of her pile. "Suit yourself." And with that said, he turned from her and walked away. She was alone again and let out a sigh, not of relief, but of acceptance.
The bell signaled the end of lunch, and she hurriedly closed her locker. Randy could be seen coming toward her. Fast and Furious with blood staining his face. She kept her chin up and put her back against the locker. She was ready.

"Listen, Jos..."

She bit her bottom lip, immediately tasting chap stick on her tongue. She took a deep breath, pursed her lips, and stared him straight in the eyes: the look of annoyance and anger. Different scenarios of revenge ran flashed through her head. But unfortunately, she had to push them away. This was not the time to be planning. She would save that for later.

"What do you want?" She jutted her head sideways, almost resembling a bobble-head. "As far as we are concerned, there is nothing you can say to fix this."

He looked taken aback. Nonetheless, he kept with his speech. "Josie, I love you."

She laughed at him. "Are you kidding me?" She looked away, shaking her head. "Randy, you don't love me, and I most certainly do not love you. Don't play that with me." This statement drew a lot of "ohs" from the now approaching posse of jocks. She was feeding off the energy.

"Now, if you don't mind, I need to go to class." She pushed away from the locker, him, and the group. Then, when she knew she wasn't being watched, she let a tear fall and had to push that away, too.

Cobalt Yellow

Cobalt Yellow

It's the feeling of your soul
Slowly decaying
And begging for mercy,
As you sell the last sliver of your heart.

It's the burning pit (of( emptiness) in your chest,
As you let him back in,
And the feeling of thick, stained nails
Raking across your forbidden skin. (prohibited, yellow tape) apple skin whoot whoot yellow

It's the smell of the moldy mattress,
The thick springs pressing into your familiar bruises (relook over too).  old apple shizz
Frigid air shrieks everything is wrong, (Frigid air denies the sin- implies you don't care it is wrong) sickly sweet air, cloying!,
Yet, you let him continue with his dirty deed. (skin and feeling and yellow) faceless, not human; stoneeee duhhh; the rape of sabine- abduction mind, heart, body

It's the deathly stillness of your body,(deathly= marble)
As you *surrender to ~his hulking mass.   war shit- inner battle with morality
His +sweaty (stench) infiltrates your nose, 
(Making you gag.) bone line, skeleton=death

It's his suffocating closeness,   (seige) starvation of hope; this is too obvious. aqui esta the siege of one espalda to two
As he forcefully makes your bodies conjoin.  ( combine personal feeling with allusions)
It's the feeling of utter violation
And the complete loss of control.

disorientation- cliff hanger ish

 how you feel as he leaves, hydra?, monstrosity, backs, heads, snake, medusa?- beginning, medusa's brother dude, gorgon, troll-y, 

Incorporate that the girl is young= forbidden, unripe apple, bells- church metonymy

*Succumb  ~that +rotting gags add reluctance  -allusion to shakespeare's beast with two backs, 
incorporate two sides, activeness 
in first two stanzas set up big bright light (mood?), sombras, beneath lies something dark, silhouette- monstrosity man to monster

Promise (old story, newly edited)

“I doubt she’d even read this” I thought as I stared at the note I had finished writing. I though back as far as I could to when she first made her promised me. I was for sitting alone on the swing set at the orphanage looking down at the ground “ everyone always leaves no one ever keep their promises” I mumbled as a blond female social worker and her four year old daughter walked up to me; “what are you talking about Devin” she asked hearing me while her daughter picked up flowers.

“No one ever comes for me even though you said they would”

“I know someone will you’re a smart adorable ad wonderful child someone will want you” She replied

“I’m no one. Nobody is gonna care about me Vanessa. my parents didn’t”

I called the female social worker by her first name so she would know I was serious.  “I do” the little girl said as she handed me the flowers she picked. “But that’s only for now” I replied as I looked at the dirt at my feet, “In that case I promise to always care about you” the blond haired girl stated with a smile. I wavered my belief in her promise as I looked to her mother who said with a smile “I’ve taught Patty to never make a promise she couldn’t keep, you can believe her” turning my head back to Patty and took the flowers. “Come on let’s go play on the jungle gym” she said as she grabbed my hand.  It was the first time I smiled since my my parents abandoned me



  My mind returned me back to my current state causing me to sigh, “I actually believed her and now I’m here at the end.” my statement cause my mind to drift again to high school a more recent time. I was in my senior year and I had started a band to try and become a professional musician. It was mid December and my first period  teacher had told us we had a new student named Patricia; I yawned because I was tired from coming up with new songs all night. A curly blond haired girl walked into the room she wore a boys jacket but the rest of her visible outfit was girls’ jeans“Hello my name is Patricia but please call me Patty” She said with a slight smile. “Let’s see sit next to Devin. He can help you with anything you need.” My teacher stated as she point to the empty desk in the back beside me. Patty came to her new seat and leaned over to me as the teacher began her lecture “Have you ever live in an orphanage?” she whispered to me.

“yes…but I got adopted when I was six”

“did a girl ever make a promise to you”

“Yeah. Now will you stop asking random very personal questions? It’s kinda creepy if you haven noticed”

“Ok but after class I want to show you something I have that make me think I may know you already”

I rolled my eyes and went to sleep until the class was over. I got up yawn, stretching until a voice came up “Tell me is this you”; it was Patty looking at me holding a pendent with a picture of a two kids. One pale with long black hair the other slightly tanned with long curly blond hair both smiling. I stared in shock that pale kid was me when I was five “How did you get that picture of me and that pendant?” I yell, since i had given that to one person years ago. She smiled and pulled me closer “You gave it to me” she replied as she suddenly kiss me “I’ve been waiting so long to do that”. I felt a little light head and dizzy as my brain tried to comprehend everything that just happened. Then suddenly it all made sense she was the same girl who made the promise to me. She smiled at me as I regained my composure “Sorry I though after eleven years I could have come up with a better way to tell you how I felt” She said as she blushed slightly while staring. “It’s ok but how about we get reacquainted before you kiss me” I said as I grabbed her hand as we left the class.



  “she really tried to keep it” I though as a tear trailed down the side of my face and I remembered what happened today that lead me here.

  “ hey  i'm working on some album art . They're in th living room on the table. You mind telling me which on it the best?” I asked Patty at random as I grabbed a muffin from the kitchen counter, she left the room.  We had be dating and living with each other for a while, but today i was about to take or realationship to the next level. i began to hear her footsteps and got out the ring "there was only one and i thought the album wasn't called...." she stopped mind sentence when her eyes here eyes on me and the ring. I got on my knee " Patricia Elizabeth Adams will you marry me?" She stood there frozen with terrified look on her face. I began to worry as she started to slowly move towards the door. Suddenly she  ran out the door and slammed it. I stayed there for what seemed like an eternity before i deciced to accept that she wasn't coming back. Once i got up all the terrible things i had been through all came to my mind at once. At that point it was to much for me to bare, i decided that i was better off dead. Now I'm here with a hand full of pills to finally end everything. As soon as i swallowed my eyes felt heavy. Everything went black.



I opened my eye being blinding by a light; there was a mechanical beep. I looked around to see I was in a hospital. A smile came across my face when I saw that Patty was sleeping on the couch in the room, she was wearing a ring on her finger. I noticed a note was in one of my hands. The note was from Patty say she was sorry and that i better not do anything like that when we're married. She really know how to keep a promise

Location : 450-460 Comstock Dr, Richmond, VA 23236,

Longing to be Free

It's being locked in closed spaces.
It's wanting to help, but being too guarded to do anything.
It's being pulled into too many directions,
People shouting, "Help me. Help me!"
It's losing the one that I love,
Even though they stand right before me.

It's finally finding the perfect one,
And being scared to lose him.
It's releasing everything locked inside my soul.
It's daring to open my heart up again.
It's being the person that everyone wants me to be.
It's appearing so strong, yet being so weak.
It's longing to stretch my wings,
Yet being held down by the wind of oppression.
It is just me, longing to be free.

It's you trying to hold me back.
It's you trying to bring me down.
It's you trying to change me to my very core.
It 's you not giving a damn about my emotions.
It's you confining me, trying to prove something.
It's you, each, and every one of you,
Calling for my attention.
It's you all trying to make me feel guilty.
It's being surrounded by a wall of people,
All screaming for my attention,
Yet never offering their support in the end.

It's you all trying to make me a cookie cutter person.
It's always expecting too much of me.
It's you all just fading into the distance,
As I gather the strength to stand alone.
In the end, it's just me ----
Longing to be free.

El Curador

Á ellos, tú eras riqueza,

Pero yo no vi el valor.

Caminé, ojos abajo,

Dejada de tu, El Amor.

Pero, un hombre me dijo,

“Ven aquí y sal del calor.

Linda, deja tus problemas.

Siempre seré tu curador.”

The only writing I have on this computer at the moment is in Spanish ^,^ 

Falling.

It’s Not You, It’s Me


The natural upward tilt of her mouth fell, her full lips forming a thin, tight line. Her jaw locked, and her slight blush faded from her cheeks. Her intense gray eyes held a hint of blue now, like ocean waves preparing for a storm. The endless amusement that usually filled them had been replaced by shallow moisture. She blinked trying to rid herself of the urge to cry. She couldn’t do it here. Her sculptured eyebrows furrowed. Not in this place.

The sounds of the crowded bar were only a quiet murmur now. There were no distinct sounds of laughter from the bachelorette party on the dance floor, no cheers from the men enticed in the last few moments of the Cowboys and Redskins game, and nothing at all from him. Her reactions seemed to come quicker than anything that was happening around her. Her world was in slow motion while only she remained at normal speed. Why wouldn’t anything focus? Why could she no longer feel anything?

He got up from the old wooden stool and was almost close enough to touch, but she wouldn’t dare. Not now. Not after what he did. That bastard. She had loved him. She still did. “I’m sorry,” she heard him say crisply. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Those were the fated words, the ones she dreaded hearing. Why now? Her long lashes closed briefly, suddenly too heavy and stinging from staring at him. When they finally lifted, all she could see through the tears was his figure moving quickly toward the door. No, not toward the door. He was walking toward her: that same slut. Of course, it was a tall blonde with big boobs, model legs, and a powdered face. He never looked back.

“Sam,” she whispered, her own voice being the only sound in her ears. She felt empty. Her gaze dropped to the dusty floor. Her mind raced with possible reasons. How could she come in second when she had been the one doing everything? She had done everything for him. Did she really deserve this? What had she done? A lone tear freed itself from between the lashes of her left eye and slid smoothly down the side of her nose and rested on the corner of her mouth. Her hand, feeling lifeless, remained at her side, uncaring of the stray tear.

“Sam,” she repeated, feeling more alone than ever. She found herself taking his untouched double shot of whiskey and downed it. Liquid fire was set to the roof of her dry mouth. It spread quickly down her throat causing her to sputter a little. She slammed the glass back on the bar as the noise and chatter flooded her ears once again.

The band was ending its song. “This goes out to everyone that’s ever received a double shot of lies and whiskey tears,” the singer announced, low into the microphone. It was as if he had overheard everything. A few strums and then the song began, slow and heartbreaking. Her eyes locked with his as he sang the first line as softly as a lullaby. “You aren’t my one and only/ those poisoned words that killed me slowly/ woke me up from my fantasy/ snapped me back to reality/ it’s not you it’s me.”

The words were a punch in her stomach. Every line sung by this gothic angel seemed to depict her very emotions, though she didn’t want to admit it. She sought to desperately hide her head in her shaking arms or behind her curtain of copper curls and seek a much needed refuge, but she knew she could not escape the sound. She wrapped her arms around herself until they tugged uncomfortably at her bare shoulders. She hoped that by this meaningless, immature gesture she would not fall apart.

It was a beautiful, dark lullaby. It lured her into a trance as she watched his hands stroke the taut strings; his eyes scanned his listeners, the adoring fans— the ones that came every Thursday night to see him, the way they use to. Sam would bring her to this very bar and listen to these unchanged lullabies, the sweet little nothings in her ear. She still couldn’t believe that this was where it ended. Girls in excessive make-up with torn and suggestive clothing ogled at the singer, displaying the crevices of desire, hoping to catch him for themselves; he crooned the things that only their hearts knew. She could feel her confidence slip. Would she become as hopeless as them?

His face was half covered by shaggy russet hair that played with his thick lashes. His deep green eyes beckoned the crowd to linger on every word, every note, and every movement. His snug gray tee shirt stretched across his chest as he leaned forward into the range of the microphone. He smiled slowly, crookedly as he ended the song. “Thanks,” he breathed. The lights spread out over the audience. Groupies covered the floor. She hadn’t realized it had gotten so crowded. Then, another song began, a little more upbeat than before. “Swing dance across the floor/I won’t love you anymore/ you think you know more than I/ such a victory to make me cry…”

It was a parade of breakup songs intended just for her. Her heart should be beating out of her chest but she couldn’t feel it. She should be breathing rapidly, but it had slowed. She unwrapped herself. She didn’t feel like she was falling apart; in fact, she didn’t feel anything at all. She wiped her fingers under her eyes, trying to scrape off any evidence of tears, but her fingers were clean. She looked up and saw the singer's intense gaze linger on her, making her drop her own. She straightened her purple lace tank top, the one she had worn for Sam, and rose to attain a better view of the stage.

Our Cult Meets Again...

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