Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Phone Call

I hung up the phone with an audible sigh. I hated the weekly call from my parents. They wanted nothing more than to try to convince me to move back in with them, and convert back to their plastic society. My parents are the perfect life-sized versions of Ken and Barbie; perfect hair, perfect clothes, not a thing out of place. Society told them to conform a certain way and they did - to a T. Years of brain washing by corporations and television had rotted their easily malleable brains. Nothing could be out of the ordinary for them. Even their last name was completely ordinary, Smith. How much more generic could you get? I unfortunately used to be just like them, blond, perky and always full of smiles. I did exactly what they told me and never strayed. And why not? It was fun to be perfect. NOT! I don't remember what exactly made me decide to break from the vicious cycle of perfection, perhaps it was my wardrobe of pinks, beiges, and powder blues that did it. Or the mandatory clean room with pink walls and frills galore, but whatever it was, I'm glad I broke ranks. I didn't change my ways in one fell swoop however. It took time. Mostly because at that point I was still slight brainwashed myself. It began with changing my name. Not legally; my parents wouldn't let me. My real name is, well, Kitty. Yes Kitty, like a cat. The girliest name on the face of the planet. A name I despise with all my being. I wish I could murder the name Kitty. Stab it with a knife and watch it bleed then rip out its guts while it screams in agony. Anyway, I made people call me "Crimson." It sounded darker and cooler. Well hell anything was better than Kitty. My parents had a fit about me wanting to change my name, but did I care? Not at all. The parents still call me Kitty, convinced I will someday go out of my right mind and enjoy that hideous name again. After my name change, I dyed my hair black, and got my ears double pierced- practically a sin in my family. Then I moved on to a stud in the ear cartilage, an even bigger sin for which I was severely punished. Then a lip ring. Oh yeah, I was bad ass, to them. My clothes went from pink to red, and from beige to black. My parents threatened to send me to military school for my "demoralizing behavior." At that moment I made it my mission in life to do everything in my power to piss off my parents, go against the grain, and just flat out drive them crazy. If they didn't like it, I did it. After high school I moved out here to Watershed Heights. It was far from the 'green lawned', identical houses my parents lived by, and I loved it.

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  1. A fox walked by, an absolute damn fox that sent shock waves down my twisted spine and a hum in my ears that sounded like the grainy click of the projector kicking on and a reel running through it. Damn. She was movie perfect, perfect lips, perfect hips, a face that seemed to spread out like starts across the screen and swell with an auburn sunlight. She was dressed in red like a flag, and adorned in silver and studs.

    Should I smile? I didn't smile. I was afraid of looking like that damn stuffy polyester job, like I'd payed hooky to go eat stale tomatoes with polyester the day of that mandatory course on how to smile that whole rest of the world seemed to pass with stickers and stars.

    Everything crackled a little bit, staticky and cold.

    I couldn't smile at this fox, not with Alien around, she just wasn't the right kind of person for that damn kid to see me smiling at.

    But Alien was gone anyhow, no longer beside me.

    Alien was gone.

    ...
    I ran down the hallway a bit, hoping there was no one I could crash into in my fogged up stupor.

    My fingers smashed into something pointy, a metal stud protruding off of a brilliantly nice face.

    "Sorry..." I whispered, pushing my hair across the my forehead, instinctively trying to impress this perfect specimen of the human race. My fist closed around a patch of twisted, wiry hair; grey hair. Those damn greys have been springing up since I was twelve. "Please, don't see the grey" I silently prayed to that great big white and red role of Panavision film in the sky, that I didn't believe in. I tugged out my shirt and scooted past her.

    "I wanna be sedated" she mumbled at me.

    So, she's one of those people.

    I could only see her shadow now, but it was perfect. Even if she was one of those people.

    "Your shirt..." She continued.

    I was wearing a Ramones t-shirt.

    So, she's one of these people.

    I unhinged my jaw and hoped it looked more like a damn smile and less like an alligator. I have a feeling it probably resembled the latter.

    ...

    I guess I had guessed wrong. I could feel the odd looks coming at me, the piercing gaze of the fox, Ms. Macintyre's croaking glare. Even the damn kid was looking at me. I knew she was, probably in fear. Her "legal guardian," god, I sound like that polyester job, was talking to a wall. The blood thudded in my ears and spun through a projector, displaying my pathetic life onto a wall I could I barely see in front of me. Complete with credits and a theme song.

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