Misunderstood

Always misunderstood, she always drifted from place to place, people wary of her emotion. So intense, yet so dull; so full of life, yet so withdrawn. She craved the freedom from the cage of nonexistent sentiment that surrounded her bleak and boring existence. Never was she able to confide in anyone her worst fears, her secret desires, her wild fantasies. She sought friendship, what she found was ugly negligence that never ceased to humiliate her. Nobody could describe the kind of pain she went through, or how she yearned for the safe sanctuary of companionship. All Sarah had ever wanted was a confidant to share her every whim

But the children at school had never understood her. They mistook her kind and gentle nature as freakish and horribly incapacitated. All through her life she searched for someone she could open her heart to, to spill her secrets; for she longed to lift some of the burden off her petite shoulders. Unfortunately, no knight in shining armor had come to her rescue.

Her parents had told her not to worry about it, for friendship was overrated and not at all what it was made out to be. Her parents were horribly shallow and self centered while at work, but they were very loving and generous at home. They were always up high in the working class and looking down at others as lesser people. However, Sarah knew that when initiated, friendship was one of the best feelings in the world.

As Sarah grew older, she became more wary of the world and people around her, including herself. She figured that although she couldn't be happy, that didn't mean that others couldn't be happy. She reveled in the pleasure of others, a small smile blooming on her lips whenever she saw couples holding hands, or football jocks grinning victoriously when a goal was scored.

Eventually Sarah discovered her uncanny talent for painting. She swept herself up in all manner of colors, drawing promising rainbows and golden sunsets dotting the horizon. She would paint the very essence of spring, flowers in bloom and tress budding in the ever-changing cycle of life. At other times she would draw the fiery glint of a thunderstorm, lighting evident as it streaked through the sky. Her ability to draw was absolutely phenomenal.

Although her drawings brought her happiness, Sarah still searched for her friend. Her parents had warned her to be careful. They loved their daughter with every fiber of their being, as they found family to be the most important thing. They always had time for their daughter and her wishes. They always gave Sarah something of sentiment on her birthday, and they never turned her away when she needed someone to talk to.

Mr. and Mrs. Maraca never completely understood Sarah's vying hand for a companion. They did however understand how important it was to her that she talk to someone. They were always willing to listen and offer advice, somewhat feeble though it was. Sooner or later Sarah realized that she had to stop trying to look, and so she waited discreetly.

She dressed in way that could only be called sophisticated, soft blacks, grays, browns and whites wrapped securely around her shapely body. She was always dressed sharp, but not overly so. Sarah's hair was always bound in a coiffure at the top of head, small tendrils of mahogany curls escaping her strict hairstyle. Small diamond studs – a present from her deceased grandmother – adorned her ears, and no quantity of makeup decorated her features to take away from her natural beauty. Sarah's eyes were the color of amber, a beautiful combination in regards to her dark tresses, which fell to her waist in a sleek sheet when unbound from her bun.

Impeccable grades and a serene sense of politeness polished this sweet girl of 17. Her final year of High school was right around the corner, as well as her 18th birthday. She had finished her school shopping, both for supplies and her usual abundance of preened outfits.

Sarah was sitting in her art room, painting a dream land full of cotton candy clouds and pastels. Paintings and sketches of her work lay scattered around the room, some drying and some framed. Acrylic, water and tempera paints, as well as art brushes of various sizes sat on a large desk and an easel sat in the corner. A wide open window gave a perfect view of the oncoming sunset, and a balcony opposite could give a strong portrayal of the wistful dawn. This room was Sarah's sanctuary, where she could scrutinize her secrets and hide from no one.

A picture on her wall depicted a single teardrop, falling from an amber eye that suspiciously twined Sarah's own iris. And if you didn't know better, you would think that this piece of art work mirrored Sarah's emotions; which was absolutely true. Sarah had never cried once in the last 10 years. She was afraid to show that kind of emotion. Her reasoning's screamed that once she started, she wouldn't be able to stop. Like the energizer bunny, she had to keep going, with her head up high, and her conscience clear.

School fell on a sunny day full of anticipation. Sarah woke up promptly at 7 seven o'clock. She got up from her bed, already growing nauseous for the upcoming school day. Sarah threw her white duvet off her pyjama clad body, and sauntered to her bathroom. 20 minutes later, she emerged with her long dark hair coiffed up in her usual bun. She dug around in her tediously organized closet, searching for the perfect outfit. Snugly fitting black dress pants, a white v-neck t-shirt and a large turquoise pendant framed Sarah's petite body. 3 inch sandals completed the outfit. She grabbed her shoulder bag with all her notebooks and pens, and rushed downstairs to eat the elegant breakfast prepared by the hired cook.

"Oh Sarah darling," her mother cooed as she sat down, "you look beautiful."

Sarah loaded her crepe with fruit and whip cream. "Thank you mom," she lifted her silver fork and popped a piece of her French breakfast into her watering mouth.

Her esteemed father chose that exact moment to sit at the table. "Are you excited for today?"

"A little," Sarah admitted.

"Don't worry honey; I'm sure you'll do fine. You always do," A genuine smile formed on her mother's red lips.

"Yes Sarah, we're very proud of you." It was Sarah's turn to smile. She knew her parents were extremely proud of her. They said it every day. It never got old, and it made Sarah feel significant.

The rest of breakfast went by fast with talk of politics. Soon it was time for Sarah to head out to school. She got into her lime green and silver sports car, her sub woofer booming with Nickleback's "Hero". Sarah pulled out of the immaculate cobblestone driveway, and drove on to greet the first day of the last year of High School.

I was just sitting on my computer, and this storyline just hit me like a ton of bricks. Its short I know, but this isn't my usual writing style, and it took me longer to write. Besides, I wanted someone's input before I make it go any farther. I would really appreciate it if you supplied me with some feedback, so please review!