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Short story shop number 2 - Pressure


She didn´t want to be here, she just wanted to stay young for a while longer.
She didn´t like the taste or the way it made her feel.
She didn´t like the way she should look.
And she didn´t fancy any of the boys.

All of the boys and all of the girls thought they were 18, but they were just fakes, in every sense of the word. No one liked them besides each other, but everyone wanted them.
Their make up made them look like clowns; less is more.
Apparently not.
She didn´t fancy the boys, and she didn´t understand why everyone else did. Its not that she wasn´t ´into´ boys, at 14, she was. But these were fücking idiots. Stupid haircutr that made them look like prisoners (a glimpse into the future) and all smoked heavily (so maybe they won´t make it to prison anyway).But isn´t this what teachers do? Thats what the papers say, and all her ´friends´ do it. It must be.

But then again, Jennys no fool, she knew it wasn´t. She also knew it wap about something even more valuable; not even close.
No, this wap about something far more important, more important to teenage high school kids than life, money, and death.
This was about being popular.

So here she is, in the middle of a small pleasant-by-day park, in a town that thinks it´s bigger than it really is.
The sun still high in the orange summer sky, as night caught up with them; and the local rugby team shot occasional glances of hate, disgust and pity.

Here were her ´friends´, doing what they did, what she thought would make her more popular, more wanted.
Lauren called her over ´hey jenny, you look good´ she admired the girl´s horrifically short skirt/belt and low cut top. This made jenny feel like a whøre, she wasn´t that sure what one was, but she still felt like one.
No pain, no gain.

As she sat down with the rest of the group (the type where the lads have names like baz, parky giz and evo and where the girls "get around"), she remembered her friends. Not her "friends" but her real friends. They like her for who she is, not who they want her to be.

But they´re not "popular", yes they are liked by alot of people and have many friends, but they´re not "popular". A concept her mother struggled to comprehend.

And that simple fact led to her being here in the scragy park with a bunch of tøssers.

Her soft smooth skin made her stand out against the snakes around her, already half dead through excess. But she shared their beauty; perfection is personified by youth. Intelligence was something they couldn´t even spell.

"You want some?" it was lauren again.
"´m...good thanks". A weak reply.
"Well don´t leave it too long or there´ll be nowt left, no what i mean?"
Yeah she knew what it ment, nowt left equals lost in lonelyness forever.
She grabbed it, and took it back, more than she´d ever wanted.
Too much.
Too much for anyone, never mind the poor, beautiful impressionable little girl.

The sky wap darker, maybe it was just getting darker anyway, or maybe it was her reflection in the sky.
No one can be sure. And no one cares.

The only thing she cared about was that it was getting darker and she was sorry. Sorry for ever wanting this, for believing she wanted this.

As her sweet eyes closed she looked up at lauren; too wasted to understand anything.
And if she could, she would have swore she say a tear of sorrow, or a tear of far-too-much.
She couldn´t be sure.
Either way, no one cared.

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