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Musings of the Smart Girl with Pink Hair and High Heels (Secrets)

She has a secret.
Her day begins. She dresses in her best and applies the makeup. She smiles at the reflection in the mirror and practices her acting skills.

People call her outgoing. They are attracted to her sweet attitude like hummingbirds to sugar-water. They buzz around her feeding off of her overflowing positive energy. Entranced, they can’t get enough of her.

She smiles constantly and her joy bubbles outward. Craving the attention, she keeps the conversation tumbling from topic to topic. All eyes are on her and she flourishes under the spotlight.

Little does everyone know, this is all an act.

At night, she takes her carefully crafted mask off and peers into the eyes in the mirror. A sheen of sorrow glistens in those depths and she can’t stop the overpowering emotions swarming her. Unable to block the flood, her mind begins to throb.

Feeling as if her head will burst, she picks up the razor. The metal gleams in the dim light. She slowly presses its hungry teeth against her scared skin. She presses down. A single trickle of blood drips. The cut widens. She thinks she feels release.

Can anyone save her from the pain she hides? Can no one see through her mask without her having to hint that something isn’t right? Can someone not see through her poor acting job?

Are we all so wrapped up in ourselves that we don’t see the obvious depression eating away at this poor creature? Will no one try to save her? Will no one lend her the hand she has been waiting for to pull her out of this hole? Can she be rescued before it is too late?

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Musings of the Smart Girl with Pink Hair and High Heels (The Devil's Got His Hands on Me)

The hair-thin metallic strings strangle my wrists. They bite into my skin and keep digging deeper until I have no hope for every removing them. My arms are jerked around to do the bidding of this evil manipulator, who gloats every time I unknowingly let him make my decisions.

Hating these bonds, I struggle to break free. I loathe the overwhelming darkness that hangs like a cloud of smoke around me. There isn’t any oxygen to breath here and I am slowly dying from the toxic atmosphere.

My wrists bleed as the wire cuts deeper. My muscles weaken and pain runs up my limbs. Defeat envelops me in its suffocating embrace and I am losing my will to fight the strong tug of the strings.

My strength continues to waver and I feel like giving into the enemy’s prompting. Fighting him off keeps getting harder and harder. His cruel words, whispered into my ears, are helping to chip away at my resolve. I am so close to giving up.

All he wants is to see our destruction.

Finally, I cry out for the only One who can sever the puppet-string manipulating me and a bright shaft of light slices through the oppressive darkness. Sweet air inflates my withered lungs and the strings that bite into my wrists and ankles slacken. I glance up to see a glorious day enveloping me in its gentle warmth and I feel the sweet breeze caress my weary body.

But even after being freed, I somehow seem to slip back into my prison. I take a few wrong turns out of selfishness and I stray away from the sunshine and grace. Running straight back into the darkness, I let the puppet-strings become taut again and this vicious cycle takes another turn.

Dead Blossoms

She gazed into his sparkling blue eyes and saw the pure, unabashed love pouring out. His eyes glowed with desire and a slow smile bloomed on his face. Losing herself, she closed her eyes and soaked in the moment. She breathed in the heavy scent of overpowering affection and sighed.

Opening her eyes to reality, she shoved down her newly discovered feelings for him and gazed once more at the ring he held out to her. Tears begged to crowd her eyes, but she forced them down. She plastered a tight smile on her face and pushed away her shock.

“I bet she’ll love it.” She choked out.

His smile widened and he wrapped her in his arms in an excited hug. Leaning her head on his strong shoulder, she couldn’t stop a lone tear from escaping from her eyes. The hot trail it left behind burned her in the same way his admission did.

As quickly as he had grabbed her, he released her and she immediately missed the warmth of his friendly embrace. A slight breeze ran along her arms and chilled her to the bone. She shivered, feeling all the exhilaration of a few moments ago flee from her now frozen heart.

Hiding her face from him, she wished him luck in proposing, while silently wishing his girlfriend would refuse. As he wished her good-bye, she couldn’t bring herself to glance at the sunny glow illuminating his face. She didn’t want to witness any more of his looks of love for another.

Her best friend walked away with a bounce in his step and she tried to keep from crumpling. Loving him enough to let him go, she turned her back to him and forced herself to move on. 

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Musings of the Smart Girl with Pink Hair and High Heels (Pressured)

Pressure gets to the best of us. This is one such story…

The smoldering cigarette was thrust in his direction. A trail of smoke connected the two boys, as one tempted the other.

He didn’t have an interest in the small, slow death sentence, but the glare in the other boy’s eyes made him feel weak and powerless. He hated those feelings; the feelings that arose when his father had drunk too much and took it out on him. He was sick of feeling like a tick under his father’s skin and he hated feeling feeble.

The little cigarette looked disgusting, but his fascination with fire combated his disgust. He had always loved to see the flames of a fire dance merrily when they consumed wood. He had set many things aflame; just to have the pleasure of watching them burn to ash. He felt so powerful in those moments.

All these thoughts swill viciously in his mind as he decided which path to take at this cross-road in his life. He could relent and let the other boy win, or he could decide to live free of the chains of addiction.

The other boy was getting impatient. He pushed the burning cigarette closer and insisted once more. He used every persuasion technique. He said it was cool and that they helped people relax. He listed all their friends that did it. But when the rest didn’t work, he threatened to never hang out again if he didn’t start the habit.

Pushed into a corner, the boy tentatively took the shrinking cigarette. His hands shook as he lifted it to his dry lips. He inhaled once.

He was hooked for life.