: afterwards.

Notice: This blog's format and theme is similar to ": in the beginning." But the character is obviously different. Enjoy!

All she did was smile. All she wanted was to lend a helping hand.

But they looked at her differently, as if they were looking at an inanimate object that wasn't supposed to be there.

All she did was ask a question, important enough for her to require an answer.

But they looked at her differently, as if they were looking at a rotting carcass. Their eyes were twitched to one side, eyebrows slanted towards the middle of their seemingly perfect faces, and mouths freezed in their icy frowns.

All she did was stop. All she did was sigh as her cries of help are reflected back as piercing arrows through her already disfigured heart.

But still they looked at her differently as she turned around and walked back from the hole in which she came from.

"Why can't you respect me? Why can't you listen to me?!" she cried, to the pictures abundant with the empty smiles of her so-called friends, eternalized forever in small metallic frames. She turned to a mirrored reflection of herself, and cried: "And you! Why do you cry? Why can't you speak for yourself? Why don't they respect you?!"

She took a framed picture, one that had a happy teenage boy with hands blindfolding her smiling face, and threw it with the little force she had left at the mirror.

With a loud sound, what remained of the mirror and the framed picture fell on the cold ceramic floor as the girl cried even harder. She could stand the sound of feet walking away from her, the hard arms slapping her tender cheeks, the empty lies created by her closest friends, the ensuing and painstaking drama that followed, and even the heartbreaking ends caused by irresponsible boyfriends that'd rather stay with any crowd opposite to her own.

But she can never ever get used to the eyes. The same judging eyes that scream out: "Look at me! I am god. You, my friend, are a failure. You were, is, and will be a failure for the rest of your life. Now begone, foul beast!" They seem to have a life of their own. A set of rules made especially by them: a standard that would finalized what each and every human being is like with a single specified movement of the eyes. No, never.

She wiped the last of her tears and made sure that she didn't look as if she had been crying; as if she had been vunerable. Slowly opening the bedroom door that would once again bring her to the rat-infested world that is her life, she felt the cold wind as another piercing comment swooshed beside her head.

Turning back to see where the it had landed, she grinned as the arrowhead pierced through the face of the boy in the now unidentified picture, ruined by the warm and salty tears that she had ever so long ago wanted to release.