Rialla stood and stared at the imperfection which was temporarily imprinted on the glass before her. Her long black hair hung limpy by her sides in dirty tangles. Most people who laid eyes on her either pitied her or were disgusted by her polluted appearence. She hadn't made any effort to look "presntable" since her mother left her... eight years ago.
She tapped the sink slowly, trying to fall into the rhythm of her clickign dirt ridden nails, forgetting the life she lived. Her breath slowed and her grimy hair climbed up her back as her head unconsciously tiled forward. Everything was living with the rhythm now, her heart, her breath, her world. Nothing else existed, just the distant sounds of clicking. She couldn't see, her eyes slowly shut out the dim light and nothing but black surrounded her, she was lost in this black, lost and never did she want to find a way out.
"RIALLA"
Snap. The girl slumped forward and fell back against the bathroom wall, her rhythm was gone. Why? Because this woman she lived with was calling her name. Her name. What it meant, she didn't know. Why she had it was a mystery. Names. Labels given to people by their creators, just labels. And yet everybody was so stern about their... labels. They wanted to be addressed a certain way... as if a label could determine a soul. She licked the thin line of blood from her wrist and pulled her stained "white" sweater over her scarred arms. Groggily, she pulled herself up from the tiled pink floor and swung open the daisy painted door.
"Rialla, dear, it's time for dinner, please get tidied up." the little lady beamed, as if she were truly expecting the grungy girl to do so much as comb her hair. "You're so beautiful," she mused as she ran her whithered hand slowly over the girl's dingy skin, "You're just so beautiful." and with that, the little womam bobbed down the flowered hall, as if she didn't even see the ratty tattered girl that stood in the tiled encasing of her home.
She loved the woman dearly, but wouldn't "tidy up" for anybody. Instead she pushed a few loose strands og greasy hair behind her ears, and that was the extent of her "Tidying". Rialla pushed through the swinging brown dooes that quarded the kitchen and was immediatly engulfed in a thick cloud of chicken and gravy. A content minute woman swooped about the premises, preparing moor food than the family could consume. Food that would probably end up in a big black bag sometime later that night.
"Jared, Molly." she called, "Come down for dinner."
Right on cue, twoperfect fairy tale teenagers bounced down the stairs, hungrily reaching for their utensils. They grinned and slopped messy potatoes onto the ceramic plates Lauren had painted herself as they chattered about the weather and other random paraphernalia. Rialla grimaced as a speck of gravy soared through the air and landed on her cheek.
"You could be a little neater." she mumbled quietly, as she rubbed away the gravy goodneess with her sleeve.
"Look who's talking," spat Molly, daintily tapping the corners of her mouth with a pink napkin, "O Queen of Slobs!!"
The little woman's eyes went wide as she observed the malicious glares being openly exchanged between Molly and her other adopted daughter. She smiled warily and tucked a rouge hair behind Rialla's ear, "You're beautiful," she whispered, "Even more so than Molly." she added more quietly, so only the two of them could her. Her aged hands pulled away as Rialla stared, the wrinkles reflected the 80 heard years the woman had spent on this earth.
For a second, she pitied her gaurdian, and the life that she lived, fostering 3 reckless teenagers, while running a little bakery during the day. People of her age and stature shouhldn't have to work that hard. Never ever.
Fer gaze crept over to molly, her sister by law, not blood. No way. The girl was too eager to please. nevertheless she had to sympathize for the girl superficiality built. it must have been hard for her, to mold her every move in approval of those around her. She was the perfect prep princess, and though she was popular enough, she could never be a leader, as most viewed her as.
Ah, a perfect prep prince, to guide his princess sister, Jared. Rialla sneered as she watched the boy shove food down his throat. Why he was worshipped at their school... was beyond her, why he was surrounded by friends, she couldn't understand. He was a pig, a jerk, a boy that no girl could stand. if not for his sharp features and high social status, he would be a nobody. Just like her.
Good for him, he wasn't a nobody. Good for him he was handsome. Good for him... he wasn't just like her. Because he wasn'r ready to be jsut like her. Most people in the world, even throughotu their whole lives, are never ready to be like her. To understand, to see things liek she did. Because it was only people like her, who could ever truly understand people. No, Jared pretended to understand people. And on some level he did, if he didn't posess such an understanding of a human mind, he wouldn't be able to manipulate people like he could. He wouldn't be a tyrant. So maybe it was better that he couldn't see things through her eyes. Through the eyes unclouded by greed, prejudice, and hate.