Inspired by the Fanfiction, 'Pretty'.


Pretty

I once had a friend who didn't like how ugly her body looked.

She didn't eat.

So her body thinned to nothing.

So her ribs stuck out from her loose XXS clothing.

So she had to be hooked up to machines.

She just wanted to be pretty.

I once had a friend who didn't like himself.

He slit his wrists.

So his arms were decorated with red slashes.

So he only wore long jackets.

So he lost so much blood, he passed out one day and left us.

He just wanted to be pretty.

I once had a friend who didn't like being awake.

He took pills to fall asleep so he could erase the dark spots under his eyes.

So his heartbeat slowed to a stalemate.

So his brain failed to function.

So he never was able to be awake again.

He just wanted to be pretty.

I once had a friend who didn't like how ugly she thought her face looked.

She wore makeup to hide her true self.

So her skin went blemished by artificial correctors.

So she had several allergic reactions to the chemicals inside the cosmetics.

So to cover up the burns and rashes caused by the makeup, she put on more.

She just wanted to be pretty.

I once had a friend who didn't like how his eyes looked.

He covered them up wherever he went.

So he didn't ever have to look at the stares.

So he didn't have to worry about how badly kept he had become because of his lack of vision.

So he didn't see the car coming.

He just wanted to be pretty.

I once had a friend who didn't like how energetic he was.

He took Ritalin and Xanax to calm himself.

So he slowly stopped communicating regularly.

So he couldn't remember simple tasks, and his brain began to falter.

So he forgot how to breathe.

He just wanted to be pretty.

I once had a friend who hated her hair.

She tugged on it in distaste, ripping out fistfuls at a time.

So her hair slowly began to recede.

So she had to start wearing a bandanna to hide her bare scalp.

So she shot herself because of the harassment.

She just wanted to be pretty.

I once had a friend who didn't like his voice.

He stopped talking altogether.

So he didn't have to respond when someone asked him why he looked a certain way.

So he could control the voices battling inside of his head.

So he didn't scream out for help when he was getting beaten to death on the streets.

He just wanted to be pretty.

The first friend had a perfectly normal body.

The second friend was the hardest boy to ever hate.

The third friend was great at keeping me awake for all-nighters.

The fourth friend had the most beautiful face, unscathed.

The fifth friend had the most beautiful blue eyes in the world.

The sixth friend was always the best at fast-moving sports.

The seventh friend had gorgeous strawberry-blonde hair that many envied.

The eighth friend had the voice that was rivaled only by great singers.

She lost her body.

He lost his life.

He lost his wakefulness.

She lost her face.

He lost his eyes.

He lost his energy.

She lost her hair.

He lost his voice.

All they ever wanted to do was be pretty, like everyone else.

But being pretty comes with a price.