We can't all live happily ever after

Just a really short angst fic. Like I said, I'm a bit morbid. I think it may come from a past life or something.

We can't all be beautiful.

I always considered myself to be plain from the start anyway. With freckles marring my face and hair that couldn’t decide if it was going to be wavy or straight, red or blonde (thank you sun), and an issue with maintaining weight it was hard to see something worthwhile. My only redeeming feature seemed to be my eyes. Deep blue with orange rings around the pupils, something almost no one had seen before, and something no one ever noticed on me until they got close. No one ever did.

 

We can’t all be popular.

At least you expect your parents to love you though right? Beating your kids with a switch was supposed to be illegal, but when you fear they might send you some place worse you learn to keep quite. It doesn’t usually stop until I bleed and with the humiliation of having to strip off my top so as not to ruin the clothing I’ve learned not to cry. I can never wear anything less than a t-shirt, not even to go swimming as my back now resembles a gnarled tree trunk.

 

We can’t all succeed.

I used to do so well in school, but since my sister died when I was ten I somehow became weird to everyone. Everyone used to get along, but somewhere along the line my classmate began to separate into groups. I still don’t know how or why it happened but I guess it always does. I guess I spend too much time thinking about it; thinking about how someone I played house with in second grade could be so cruel to me now, without even knowing who I am anymore. Now instead of A’s and B’s I get C’s and D’s, and I find that most days I don’t even care.

 

We can’t all be happy.

I used to dream of getting married. Then I dreamed of falling in love, but now I know that either and/or both consist of making love. In order to do that though, that consists of getting naked and I’m so disfigured and ugly no one would ever want to see me that way. So I have to get over it. I have to get used to it. The only men that would ever want me and love me are the men I fantasize about after reading a romance novel. Even then I feel guilty afterwards. I’m not sure what I did to deserve this, but I am not blind to the truth of things. I’ll never have a happy ending.