A Biography Of Oneself

[Out of context, I'm sorry, italics didn't work on the entry form (online), so I put in square brackets, italics and square brackets end italics, I hope it's alright.]

“Me,” she said to herself, smiling, for the first time understanding its meaning.
The piercing wind blew onto her face as she stood on the bridge’s edge like a fallen angel forced to the very edge of her exile. She looked down at the rippled waters that reflected the city’s lights. [italics]This is it[/italics], she thought as she took another, maybe last, breath in.
Abrielle, she was the girl everyone either wanted to be or be with; but along with her fame, came the knowledge. It was not easy living the perfect life – her flawless mask was the glamour of the hate and tears that built up over the lonely years.

She has only ever confided in one other person, him – he was her sole reason to live on. As stable as a mountain can be, landslides still happen and this one crushed her, a slow, painful death. [italics]Words were like bullets, but they kill better than guns[/italics], she remembered, it was quoted by her father all the time. After all, it was just a few simple words that brought her to death’s door, “Grow up, Abrielle. You have everything anyone could possibly wish for.” Then it hit her, he didn’t understand, he never had. He never had to move every couple of years; he never needed to sort out real friends from the fakes. He had no idea what academic pressure was, after all, it was the Ivy League or nothing for her. Remembering these things, she realised, [italics]he had never seen the world. He never gotten the chance, yet he was amazingly self-actualised[/italics].
She closed her eyes, the hot tears burned her cheeks; flashes of memories flooded her mind. She could still here the static music coming out of her iPod. The images were starting to change more rapidly, like a video reel; her parents, her siblings, none of that mattered to Abrielle anymore. Then she saw him – it was all because of him. I can’t do this, she told herself stepping down from the cold metal railings of the bridge.
[italics]Abrielle, easy to remember, impossible to define[/italics]; the last page of her journal filled.


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