I needed to scream. I needed to yell. My heart was pounding fast. So fast that it felt more like buzzing then pounding. I could hear a rhythm, but it was to slow to be my heartbeat, but to fast to be music. My stomach jolted in too much energy, that I didn’t want to have. It was like having an electric charge go through me. I needed to get out. Although if I opened my eyes, I could probably see for miles, I felt like I was confined in a little box. The wind was blowing in my long blond hair. My eyes were closed so tight; I was beginning to see sparks beneath my eyelids. When I had come outside, the sun had been setting. I am not sure how long I have been sitting here with my eyes closed. For all I know, it could be daylight again. But I don’t want to open my eyes. I don’t want to face reality. The pressure of everything was getting to me. I needed to open my eyes and see what was going on around me. I forced them open. It felt as if my eyelids were bricks. My brain told me I couldn’t lift them. My heart, soul, and common sense told me to keep my eyes shut. But I had to go against all that. I forced my eyes open to see the destruction. I opened them. Slowly and painfully I opened them.



The scene was horrific. The sun was setting still, but it was low. The clouds were pink. The grass was perfectly mowed and emerald green. In the distance, there was a little brown house. Scattered in the grass were pink, yellow, red, and purple wild flowers. They were small, with around, fifty tiny, oval petals, in circles. The biggest circle was at the bottom, and the circles of petals got smaller as it headed toward the green middle. The green stems varied in length. They had some white fuzz on them, but it wasn’t noticeable from far away. About a quarter of a mile to the left of me was a small bridge. Below it was a beautiful river. Just a bit darker them my sisters eyes. Yes, this was the destruction. Why was it destruction you may ask? Because I needed imperfections. Everything in my life was too perfect. My to perfect house. My to perfect model of a mother. My straight A sister. My lawyer of a father. Everyone in my family was perfect as it can get. But me, no. I get ok grades. A’s and B’s. I don’t horseback ride like my sister. I am a bench warmer for the volleyball team. I had split ends. My eyes were plain and brown. Like my fathers. Unlike my mom and sisters. They both had beautiful blue eyes, and long black hair. They both had devastatingly good looks. I was plain, with dirty blond hair. I was slightly chunky, while my mother and sister were both sticks. Other parents used my sister as a comparison to their own child, saying, “Why can’t you be more like Marissa?” Imagine how hard it is to be Marissa’s sister. I am just Sarah, the plain one. Just my name makes me sound plainer. Compare Sarah to Marissa. Marissa is beautiful, meaning of the sea, to match her eyes. My name, Sarah, means princess. I don’t understand why I was named princess. I am the farthest thing from being a princess. I wish I wasn’t me. My life isn’t me. Maybe in my next life I will be someone else.


I took the walk. A quarter of a mile. That’s all it would take. My feet crunched over the grass. The flowers wilted under my feet. I felt powerful. Unstoppable. I began to run.

Finally I was at the bridge. I jumped.