Sometimes I wonder if it's just me.
Totally disillusioned with anything outside of a world created to fit my social and emotional needs, like say anything outside of a book.
Because people my age, don't read. Alright that's a gross exaggeration, but the mass majority do not frequent libraries or bookstores with the intent of leaving with a book, unless it's for school.
People my age, don't type in complete sentences with proper spelling and you'd think in a world becoming as modernized as this, spelling would be kind of important. It's the new selection-of-a-mate process.
No. No. It really is.
Sometimes I wonder why it seems so gross, this new era that's dawning upon us. With my 16 and 17 year old counterparts with their Blackberries and Androids (and don't know how to fucking use them to their fullest potential...), the people dying to be young, and the young dying to throw away their youth, how everything seems so important tomorrow and right now? We all just want a good time, no rules, no deadlines, and no names. And then I think that it's not the era at all. It's the general population of the fuck ups ruining it for the rest of us.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
You've got a bone to pick
It's funny how true nature always wins out. You can't hide who you really are for long. If you're a miserable person, it'll escape. If you're a positive person trying to hide under the mask of depression, you'll confuse the fuck out of people and yourself. But say you do agree with me and the true self always comes out eventually...
why do you create a mask?
It's kind of pointless isn't it? And at the end of the day, the lie is still a lie. The feelings that arose when you wore your heavily made up persona are lies, and the situations you created or took advantage of, might as well have been a dream. You get it don't you?
But you're doing it now.
If this mask theory does apply to you, you're probably sitting there thinking of where the cracks are. How to create a more flawless mask, and how to cover up your flaws with more style. But here's the thing, it won't work. Because it's too late. People are already know you and you have to offer, mask or no mask. The persona has been life and breath and soon, you're going to sink.
True happiness is not built through other people, it comes from knowing yourself better than what people suggest is the real you, being able to smile at the haters because you know what you're really made of. That tremor of a smile there, the flicker of delight because you obtained the grain of attention, it's a lie. It won't last. It's not real.
But who am I to judge?
After all, it's not like I've been through this all before, and know when a lie is dying.
And I too still wear a mask, of ignorance. Because there's no way in hell, I'm letting you in to find out what I know. But I'll rip you apart to get to your core.
You've got a bone to pick, but I've got skeletons to hide.
why do you create a mask?
It's kind of pointless isn't it? And at the end of the day, the lie is still a lie. The feelings that arose when you wore your heavily made up persona are lies, and the situations you created or took advantage of, might as well have been a dream. You get it don't you?
But you're doing it now.
If this mask theory does apply to you, you're probably sitting there thinking of where the cracks are. How to create a more flawless mask, and how to cover up your flaws with more style. But here's the thing, it won't work. Because it's too late. People are already know you and you have to offer, mask or no mask. The persona has been life and breath and soon, you're going to sink.
True happiness is not built through other people, it comes from knowing yourself better than what people suggest is the real you, being able to smile at the haters because you know what you're really made of. That tremor of a smile there, the flicker of delight because you obtained the grain of attention, it's a lie. It won't last. It's not real.
But who am I to judge?
After all, it's not like I've been through this all before, and know when a lie is dying.
And I too still wear a mask, of ignorance. Because there's no way in hell, I'm letting you in to find out what I know. But I'll rip you apart to get to your core.
You've got a bone to pick, but I've got skeletons to hide.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Today can just die.
Today is a day where I bitch about how horrible today is.
"And how is that different from any other day?" I hear you shout silently. It just is.
Getting out of bed before noon is not something I make a habit of. I wake up six to drop my sisters to school and then sleep. Simply because I don't sleep until after I drop the twins anyway.
I had plans and they got changed because I was trying to be a good friend and I have a tendency of putting people before myself.
So schedule is set back an hour and I want to go find a little pick me up. A magazine. Because magazines are sort of my outlet. I tear them up, and put them back together in a way with a metaphorical meaning. Look how artsy I am. But when I picked up my little cheap Glamour UK, I saw the new Vogue Italia issue. And not just any issue, a bundle. Five magazines featuring haute couture and a variety of other goodies. My heart lurched. I needed it. Why? Because it would make me feel good, like there was hope in this day not being shitty. Oh...but no.
There wasn't enough money on my card.
....
...
..
.
NO MAGAZINE FOR ME.
So I do what every self respecting girl would do. I spend the money I do have on something I don't need.
Cigarettes and monster.
Now. I don't have enough money to finish out the week. And I'm pretty sure I can't ask my father for money unti thursday? Probably.
Great.
Now I'm weak, sweaty and tired.
And it all started with a plate of linguini and a glass of wine.
"And how is that different from any other day?" I hear you shout silently. It just is.
Getting out of bed before noon is not something I make a habit of. I wake up six to drop my sisters to school and then sleep. Simply because I don't sleep until after I drop the twins anyway.
I had plans and they got changed because I was trying to be a good friend and I have a tendency of putting people before myself.
So schedule is set back an hour and I want to go find a little pick me up. A magazine. Because magazines are sort of my outlet. I tear them up, and put them back together in a way with a metaphorical meaning. Look how artsy I am. But when I picked up my little cheap Glamour UK, I saw the new Vogue Italia issue. And not just any issue, a bundle. Five magazines featuring haute couture and a variety of other goodies. My heart lurched. I needed it. Why? Because it would make me feel good, like there was hope in this day not being shitty. Oh...but no.
There wasn't enough money on my card.
....
...
..
.
NO MAGAZINE FOR ME.
So I do what every self respecting girl would do. I spend the money I do have on something I don't need.
Cigarettes and monster.
Now. I don't have enough money to finish out the week. And I'm pretty sure I can't ask my father for money unti thursday? Probably.
Great.
Now I'm weak, sweaty and tired.
And it all started with a plate of linguini and a glass of wine.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Killing the Diva, Rasing the Z
I lack substence. And that's something I've been afraid of. I've been coasting on common ground (like school), style (the Diva) and people's interest in something that doesn't necessarily have to do with me, a person (sex, teasing).
I've been relying on such a strong characteristic of style to speak volumes for me. The Diva is a crutch. I'm addicted to her, and being her. The attention. That's all she thrives on, that's all she is. And that's all people see. That isn't the person I should strive to be. Correction: that isn't the person I want to be.
So how do you fix something that's defined you for a good deal of your life? How do you kill a part of you that worms its way out into the open and doesn't go queitly?
With a shotgun, that's how.
But really? Finding substence. Learning about things, developing a real interest in things and existing not as a doll, but as human being. But I don't know the first thing about that.
And maybe that's a consequence of surrounding myself with people who didn't ask for more of me. We satisfied ourselves on simply being a mirror that reflected the size of our egos and nothing more. Ugh. There's so much work to do.
So I'll learn. And I'll learn fast. It's the fear of losing my place in society as an actual person that overrides the fear of not being an interesting person. It's the fear of being loved for something people don't know isn't there. Looking at what I've got now, I don't have anything to lose.
Oy muffins.
I've been relying on such a strong characteristic of style to speak volumes for me. The Diva is a crutch. I'm addicted to her, and being her. The attention. That's all she thrives on, that's all she is. And that's all people see. That isn't the person I should strive to be. Correction: that isn't the person I want to be.
So how do you fix something that's defined you for a good deal of your life? How do you kill a part of you that worms its way out into the open and doesn't go queitly?
With a shotgun, that's how.
But really? Finding substence. Learning about things, developing a real interest in things and existing not as a doll, but as human being. But I don't know the first thing about that.
And maybe that's a consequence of surrounding myself with people who didn't ask for more of me. We satisfied ourselves on simply being a mirror that reflected the size of our egos and nothing more. Ugh. There's so much work to do.
So I'll learn. And I'll learn fast. It's the fear of losing my place in society as an actual person that overrides the fear of not being an interesting person. It's the fear of being loved for something people don't know isn't there. Looking at what I've got now, I don't have anything to lose.
Oy muffins.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Weirdness
That is a particularly brand of people that excells and prides itself on being the weirdest they possibly can be. Why? How? And is it socially acceptable.
I'm weird. I choose to define myself as weird. I dress like a pimp in drag make up for god's sake. I'm morbid. I'm entertained by things that leave people disgruntled. I take my parents' frowning at my appearance as a compliment and I bathe in the stares of passer by. But in all honesty I'm not weird.
Weird simply sounds better than normal. To me at least. And if you're a friend of mine, clearly it sounds better to you too. Because really, in this day and age who wants to be cut from the same cloth as everyone else? I don't. I want to be cut from the clouds on Mount Olympus, with the little pony from Hercules by my side.
For the true "freaks" of this era, it isn't for attention, though we love it. It isn't for fame, or attention, or love, or attention. See where I'm going with this? We stand out, because you put us in category that is seperate from what you know to be normal. That's all. We see someone like us, it's going to be a rocking good time. We see you staring at us with your mouth all agape, we're going to wink and shimmy and be delightful. We see you imitate us because you don't have an inkling of personality to speak of, we're going to stick you in the heart with a sneer and scoff.
So it's not us, that are weird. Oh no no no. Sweetie, that's all you.
I'm weird. I choose to define myself as weird. I dress like a pimp in drag make up for god's sake. I'm morbid. I'm entertained by things that leave people disgruntled. I take my parents' frowning at my appearance as a compliment and I bathe in the stares of passer by. But in all honesty I'm not weird.
Weird simply sounds better than normal. To me at least. And if you're a friend of mine, clearly it sounds better to you too. Because really, in this day and age who wants to be cut from the same cloth as everyone else? I don't. I want to be cut from the clouds on Mount Olympus, with the little pony from Hercules by my side.
For the true "freaks" of this era, it isn't for attention, though we love it. It isn't for fame, or attention, or love, or attention. See where I'm going with this? We stand out, because you put us in category that is seperate from what you know to be normal. That's all. We see someone like us, it's going to be a rocking good time. We see you staring at us with your mouth all agape, we're going to wink and shimmy and be delightful. We see you imitate us because you don't have an inkling of personality to speak of, we're going to stick you in the heart with a sneer and scoff.
So it's not us, that are weird. Oh no no no. Sweetie, that's all you.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
I shot the sheriff
You see, there's this thing. Called your mind.
It typically works in a certain way.
When something unfavorable happens you are conditioned to react a certain way.
Your past experiences affect your reaction greatly.
For example:
If as a child your parents fought, and it upset you. The sounds and tones used in that situation will continue to upset you in your progression through and to adulthood. Even if the original parties are not involved.
My parents fought consistently for a couple years before the divorce. And being a curious child I always listened. I was curious. Now, as my parents have been divorced for several years, explitives such as "Fuck" and "Bitch" still send my heart racing. It makes me so uneasy, I've replaced those same words in my language to "muffin" and "kitten". Call it a coping mechanism if you will.
It's interesting to see how similar people are once you really break it down. We all have problems with relationships. We all are afraid we cannot be loved. We all need to feel loved. The difference comes in in how obtain our so called idea of love.
Mine? I'm not sure. Being the person that I am, I am either absolutely enthralled with you and will go to anything lengths to please you or I generally keep a firm wall of no emotional exposure on my part, and complete and a total emotional poker face when helping you through your moments. It could be abandonment. My mother essentially abandoned me, so there's a longing for maternal care I possess and try to impose on people. It could be simply allowing myself to become disillusioned with the idea of absolute trust stemming from disappointment. It may even have something to do with that pesky inconsistent emotional and intellectual confindence.
Why this topic for tonight? Simple. Extremely emotinal problems do not bother me when I can take them on one at a time. But that's never the way it is, is it? One becomes several and then my inability to cope makes me 1)impulsive and 2) withdrawn. I cannot stand generally angry people or generally unhappy people who never say anything positive and in a world where communication is so wired, what you say holds a lot of sway with people. I happen to be surrounded with these sorts of people. They critize me for their own faults, accuse me of traits I don't possess and believe they know how I'll act in a certain situation. That's another type of person I can't stand, people who think they know you and then never take in the new information of what you aren't.
I'm a typically good person. I can be bitchy, selfish, and indifferent at times but that's on occassion. The sum of my parts should cancel out the stupidity people seem think is there. Eventually, if you and I have been friends long enough and you fall into one of the categories above, you'll see I no longer will care what answer I give you. You essentially make up the story to fit your personal image of me. And that's not to say you have a vendetta against me, that's simply how you are. I can't bothered to be truthful with people who don't acknowledge the truth itself.
Once upon a time, I believed there was something wrong with me. I had to be sick, because people were unhappy with me regardless of what I did. I got so wrapped in pleasing other people, I forgot how to please myself, as cliche as that is. But the further away I got from the source of my depression and anxiety, the less I saw wrong with myself, the more I saw me for what I truly was. Sometimes, being back in California and not in Trinidad, I need to remind myself that I am a truly brilliant person and not the wicked harlot that people seem to love to associate with me.
For all those people with relationship problems, here's a touch of advice.
The more you yell, the less they hear.
but I did not shoot no deputy.
It typically works in a certain way.
When something unfavorable happens you are conditioned to react a certain way.
Your past experiences affect your reaction greatly.
For example:
If as a child your parents fought, and it upset you. The sounds and tones used in that situation will continue to upset you in your progression through and to adulthood. Even if the original parties are not involved.
My parents fought consistently for a couple years before the divorce. And being a curious child I always listened. I was curious. Now, as my parents have been divorced for several years, explitives such as "Fuck" and "Bitch" still send my heart racing. It makes me so uneasy, I've replaced those same words in my language to "muffin" and "kitten". Call it a coping mechanism if you will.
It's interesting to see how similar people are once you really break it down. We all have problems with relationships. We all are afraid we cannot be loved. We all need to feel loved. The difference comes in in how obtain our so called idea of love.
Mine? I'm not sure. Being the person that I am, I am either absolutely enthralled with you and will go to anything lengths to please you or I generally keep a firm wall of no emotional exposure on my part, and complete and a total emotional poker face when helping you through your moments. It could be abandonment. My mother essentially abandoned me, so there's a longing for maternal care I possess and try to impose on people. It could be simply allowing myself to become disillusioned with the idea of absolute trust stemming from disappointment. It may even have something to do with that pesky inconsistent emotional and intellectual confindence.
Why this topic for tonight? Simple. Extremely emotinal problems do not bother me when I can take them on one at a time. But that's never the way it is, is it? One becomes several and then my inability to cope makes me 1)impulsive and 2) withdrawn. I cannot stand generally angry people or generally unhappy people who never say anything positive and in a world where communication is so wired, what you say holds a lot of sway with people. I happen to be surrounded with these sorts of people. They critize me for their own faults, accuse me of traits I don't possess and believe they know how I'll act in a certain situation. That's another type of person I can't stand, people who think they know you and then never take in the new information of what you aren't.
I'm a typically good person. I can be bitchy, selfish, and indifferent at times but that's on occassion. The sum of my parts should cancel out the stupidity people seem think is there. Eventually, if you and I have been friends long enough and you fall into one of the categories above, you'll see I no longer will care what answer I give you. You essentially make up the story to fit your personal image of me. And that's not to say you have a vendetta against me, that's simply how you are. I can't bothered to be truthful with people who don't acknowledge the truth itself.
Once upon a time, I believed there was something wrong with me. I had to be sick, because people were unhappy with me regardless of what I did. I got so wrapped in pleasing other people, I forgot how to please myself, as cliche as that is. But the further away I got from the source of my depression and anxiety, the less I saw wrong with myself, the more I saw me for what I truly was. Sometimes, being back in California and not in Trinidad, I need to remind myself that I am a truly brilliant person and not the wicked harlot that people seem to love to associate with me.
For all those people with relationship problems, here's a touch of advice.
The more you yell, the less they hear.
but I did not shoot no deputy.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
early morning wandering
SO I can’t fall asleep till I write this. It’ll just nag me until it escapes into the world that is the internet.
Emotionally, anything that bothers me I’m never going to tell you when it actually bothers me. Last night I seriously just didn’t want to go home and be myself and cry myself to sleep again, because of some social disturbance that I couldn’t rectify by the sheer power that is Z. So I went to my friend’s house, but I couldn’t talk to him about it. Because 1) he’s not the problem, so he’s not the answer. 2) He probably won’t care enough to help me. So I just repressed it and tried to cheer myself up.
But I don’t tell people anything really. Does anyone? Why not? I’m sure almost all our problems could easily be resolved if we could just accept people and understand where they’re coming from. But no one tells anyone anything, it’s all guess work and life shouldn’t really be trial and error. It should be peaceful and full of self contentedness. It’s like we’re working against each other subconsciously.
Maybe I am just a whore and lack the emotional depth to form any intellectual relationship with people. I mean, that’s why the people I would like to be friends with won’t allow that to happen, because they can see through the pretentious mask that is Diva. But I’m beginning to doubt the mask concept that is the Diva. Maybe I am more like her than I’m willing to accept. My Halloween costume is a slutty school girl where midriff is bare and the skirt doesn’t even come down to mid thigh. Let’s not even get into how much of my bra we can see. But here’s the werid thing. I’m totally comfortable with it. I have a wonderful body and I feel totally comfortable being exposed in public. But it’s so frowned upon it scares me. I mean if you know me then you know that this is a wow thing, not like “Oh she is slut, so this is like her uniform when she’s working the room”. I doubt my attractiveness because I’m always by myself and have yet to be kidnapped. And it’s not like it would be hard. I weigh nothing. No muscle to speak of. And nobody is going to save me. Lol
Maybe that’s what bothers me the most, because no matter what I do no one gives a shit about me, but I find myself pleasing people and flattering their egos. All my relationships are like that, except for two. And that’s only because we’re so alike our problems don’t get in the way of our relationship. Probably because I didn’t bother tell people the truth anymore. Even more recently I don’t care who knows my secrets now. Being honest is relieving, yet discouraging. I’m setting up walls and keeping people at a sexual distance. It’s not even satisfying anymore. I haven’t been turned on since I left for Trinidad. No interest what so ever. Funny, all that the people that used to act like they wanted to get to know me, now don’t bother because there’s no sex there. But I’m not satisfied because I didn’t get to delve into their minds and their personal lives and live vicariously through them.
And there is one guy who could possibly get through to me and show me how none of this is true. I’ve got a wicked personality, an attitude to be reckoned with, and an exotic beauty that is unmatched. But there’s no conviction there sweeties. Not one iota.
Maybe I don't know who I am anymore, not because I'm confused or lost, but I simply don't care really. Interesting.
Emotionally, anything that bothers me I’m never going to tell you when it actually bothers me. Last night I seriously just didn’t want to go home and be myself and cry myself to sleep again, because of some social disturbance that I couldn’t rectify by the sheer power that is Z. So I went to my friend’s house, but I couldn’t talk to him about it. Because 1) he’s not the problem, so he’s not the answer. 2) He probably won’t care enough to help me. So I just repressed it and tried to cheer myself up.
But I don’t tell people anything really. Does anyone? Why not? I’m sure almost all our problems could easily be resolved if we could just accept people and understand where they’re coming from. But no one tells anyone anything, it’s all guess work and life shouldn’t really be trial and error. It should be peaceful and full of self contentedness. It’s like we’re working against each other subconsciously.
Maybe I am just a whore and lack the emotional depth to form any intellectual relationship with people. I mean, that’s why the people I would like to be friends with won’t allow that to happen, because they can see through the pretentious mask that is Diva. But I’m beginning to doubt the mask concept that is the Diva. Maybe I am more like her than I’m willing to accept. My Halloween costume is a slutty school girl where midriff is bare and the skirt doesn’t even come down to mid thigh. Let’s not even get into how much of my bra we can see. But here’s the werid thing. I’m totally comfortable with it. I have a wonderful body and I feel totally comfortable being exposed in public. But it’s so frowned upon it scares me. I mean if you know me then you know that this is a wow thing, not like “Oh she is slut, so this is like her uniform when she’s working the room”. I doubt my attractiveness because I’m always by myself and have yet to be kidnapped. And it’s not like it would be hard. I weigh nothing. No muscle to speak of. And nobody is going to save me. Lol
Maybe that’s what bothers me the most, because no matter what I do no one gives a shit about me, but I find myself pleasing people and flattering their egos. All my relationships are like that, except for two. And that’s only because we’re so alike our problems don’t get in the way of our relationship. Probably because I didn’t bother tell people the truth anymore. Even more recently I don’t care who knows my secrets now. Being honest is relieving, yet discouraging. I’m setting up walls and keeping people at a sexual distance. It’s not even satisfying anymore. I haven’t been turned on since I left for Trinidad. No interest what so ever. Funny, all that the people that used to act like they wanted to get to know me, now don’t bother because there’s no sex there. But I’m not satisfied because I didn’t get to delve into their minds and their personal lives and live vicariously through them.
And there is one guy who could possibly get through to me and show me how none of this is true. I’ve got a wicked personality, an attitude to be reckoned with, and an exotic beauty that is unmatched. But there’s no conviction there sweeties. Not one iota.
Maybe I don't know who I am anymore, not because I'm confused or lost, but I simply don't care really. Interesting.
Monday, October 4, 2010
The Changelings
“It’s happening again.”
“Fuck.” Luci reached for the syringe to administer the glamour. The new girl was up to six shots a day, twice the normal amount.
“No I don’t want an injection!” Bianca cried out. “I can’t stand how it feels.”
Gabriel, Julian, and Marcus watched as Luci wrestled with the young girl. “We’re out of pills. Either you take this or you change. God damn it! Help you bastards.”
Gabriel laughed. “You seem to be doing just fine on your own.”
The sight was ridiculous. Lucinda barely weighed anything compared to the tall, muscular girl beneath her. She’d pinned her down onto the pavement behind the Razor Bubble dance club, but couldn’t release Bianca’s hands for fear she’d knock her over. And the boys did nothing but watch and laugh.
“Pig headed sons of bitches.” Growled Lucinda. “Stay still, damn it!”
“No! I’ll change then! Don’t stick me with that fucking needle!” With a buck of her hips she sent Lucinda flying backwards against the wall. She ducked behind a dumpster, howling as the change took her.
“Where…the fuck…did you find her?” Lucinda gasped. Blood slowly trickling down her neck into her jacket. She took her scarf to stop the bleeding. “She’s like a wild animal.”
“She’s no worse than you were you’re first change.” Marcus chuckled. “ Then again, you were a hell lot easier to restrain.”
“But restraining the beast,” She gestured to Bianca, “would just look straight up questionable, wouldn’t it?”
Marcus sighed with dismay. “You know how it would look, Luci.”
“Hmph.”
In the corner by the dumpster, Bianca was panting. Without the glamour to suppress the change, or the pills to numb it, it was spreading through her like a virus on crack. She’s seen the others change, looking like angels dipped in black, grey and gold paint with wings that stretched on for days, and the twins, Lucinda and Julian had tails. A tail! But Bianca had never changed. She didn’t know what to expect.
“I don’t hear any bones popping.” Julian noted. “Or anymore screams, either.”
“Come out Bianca.” Marcus called. She peeked around the corner, to see the boys had turned their backs and Lucinda stood waiting with a dress. That’s right, she thought, when they changed their clothes no longer fit.
“Do you think that if we changed too, it would make her more comfortable?” Asked Lucinda softly. Changing into their other form was one thing, changing back was hell on earth. But Marcus shook his head.
Bianca took a cautious step forward into the dim street lamp and waited for them to gasp in horror. Her eyes had been closed through the entire change, and when she heard nothing, no comment, no awe, no gasp, she looked down to see her leg was exactly the same.
“Marcus…?” Lucinda cocked her head to the side. “We have a problem with the beast.”
“Fuck.” Luci reached for the syringe to administer the glamour. The new girl was up to six shots a day, twice the normal amount.
“No I don’t want an injection!” Bianca cried out. “I can’t stand how it feels.”
Gabriel, Julian, and Marcus watched as Luci wrestled with the young girl. “We’re out of pills. Either you take this or you change. God damn it! Help you bastards.”
Gabriel laughed. “You seem to be doing just fine on your own.”
The sight was ridiculous. Lucinda barely weighed anything compared to the tall, muscular girl beneath her. She’d pinned her down onto the pavement behind the Razor Bubble dance club, but couldn’t release Bianca’s hands for fear she’d knock her over. And the boys did nothing but watch and laugh.
“Pig headed sons of bitches.” Growled Lucinda. “Stay still, damn it!”
“No! I’ll change then! Don’t stick me with that fucking needle!” With a buck of her hips she sent Lucinda flying backwards against the wall. She ducked behind a dumpster, howling as the change took her.
“Where…the fuck…did you find her?” Lucinda gasped. Blood slowly trickling down her neck into her jacket. She took her scarf to stop the bleeding. “She’s like a wild animal.”
“She’s no worse than you were you’re first change.” Marcus chuckled. “ Then again, you were a hell lot easier to restrain.”
“But restraining the beast,” She gestured to Bianca, “would just look straight up questionable, wouldn’t it?”
Marcus sighed with dismay. “You know how it would look, Luci.”
“Hmph.”
In the corner by the dumpster, Bianca was panting. Without the glamour to suppress the change, or the pills to numb it, it was spreading through her like a virus on crack. She’s seen the others change, looking like angels dipped in black, grey and gold paint with wings that stretched on for days, and the twins, Lucinda and Julian had tails. A tail! But Bianca had never changed. She didn’t know what to expect.
“I don’t hear any bones popping.” Julian noted. “Or anymore screams, either.”
“Come out Bianca.” Marcus called. She peeked around the corner, to see the boys had turned their backs and Lucinda stood waiting with a dress. That’s right, she thought, when they changed their clothes no longer fit.
“Do you think that if we changed too, it would make her more comfortable?” Asked Lucinda softly. Changing into their other form was one thing, changing back was hell on earth. But Marcus shook his head.
Bianca took a cautious step forward into the dim street lamp and waited for them to gasp in horror. Her eyes had been closed through the entire change, and when she heard nothing, no comment, no awe, no gasp, she looked down to see her leg was exactly the same.
“Marcus…?” Lucinda cocked her head to the side. “We have a problem with the beast.”
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