The Ornament Of Beauty, Shakespeare

He Wondered If This Was What Clinical Depression Felt Like, A Total Numbness, A Weary Lack Of Hope.

She Was Afraid Of All That And So Much More, But What Terrified Her Most Was Inside Of Her, An Insect Of Unnatural Intelligence Who’d Been Living In Her Brain Her Entire Life, Playing With It, Clicking Across It, Wrenching Loose Its Cables On A Whim.

A Pretty Face Had Been Damaged By Acne Scars And She Wore And Extra Forty Pounds On Her Frame Like A Threat. Her Eyes Were Dull With Anger Disguised As Apathy. If She Kept On Her Current Path, She'd Grow Into The Type Of Person Who Fed Her Kids Doritos For Breakfast And Purchased Angry Bumper Stickers With Lots Of Exclamation Points. But Right Now, She Was Just Another In A Long Line Of Pissed-off Small-town Girls With A Shitty Outlook.

She Smiled Darkly And Shook Her Head. 'i'm Not Crazy. I'm Not. Of Course What Else Would A Crazy Person Claim? That's The Kafkaesque Genius Of It All. If You're Not Crazy But People Have Told The World You Are, Then All Your Protests To The Contrary Just Underscore Their Point. Do You See What I'm Saying?

Charm Was The Luxury Of Those Who Still Believed In The Essential Rightness Of Things. In Purity And Picket Fences.