typei101

[typei101]

My Terrible Crush

In Year 10 I developed a crush on this tall wanker because one day he refused to mark our papers together despite being told to do so by my Maths teacher. I thought he was smart and sexy, his laugh was the cutest, he had a snatched waist that I wanted but no booty :’( relatable. I wanted to be friends with him initially but I was so paralyzed in fear of him knowing I had a crush on him I instead ignored him and was cold so that I would have no way of being forced to interact with him. So Computing lesson comes and coincedentally his friend’s not in and coincedentally he sits next to me. Geography now, and he’s on my table and I’m in charge of supplies so he has to frequently ask me to pass him stuff. Also we go to the same tutoring centre because my friends had recommended I go there .-. fun

I was INFATUATED. All I eat, breathed and shit was him. He was the love of my life. Every time he was 0.5mm closer to me than usual my brain would set off alarms that we were gonna touch. I kept staring at him and noticing him in every room no matter how far away he was or how he looked. After becoming friends with his friends it gave me an excuse to interact with him a lot more but I slowly realised he was avoiding me on purpose. He would talk to me through talking to his friend and referencing me like I wasn’t there. He would try to avoid me physically, like jumping 10 ft back when I walked near him and pushing all his belongings to the side when I would be on his table. All these precautions would go out the window of course when playing with his mates where he would knock into me and not give two shits because he’s an amazing human being +=+ I should have realised this man doesn’t care about me at all but idk somehow at the time my brain made really convincing reasonings for everything he did.

We ended up interacting enough with each other to be put in the same groupchat so I had his number on my phone. That made me super anxious at home because I would always imagine accidentally calling him or texting him something. I then got his IG too and Oh Lord I was basically a living paranoid statue. We ended becoming friends? He even went out of his way to help me revise for maths by giving me the topics to revise and pics and links of e v e r y t h i n g. I playfully teased him about how gentlemanly he was and he immediately dissapeared off of chat :’( rip

So we’re pretty good friends now and even attended an open evening together where I was being super clingy but he was ok with it. After having deep convos and stuff the thought of being just friends left my mind and I WANTED to let him know how I feel about him. In spirit of our humourous relationship I confessed to him with cowboy emojis and him going “u like me or LIKE like me O.o” and then told me politely he liked someone else. I couldn’t hate him, he was super respectful and sweet in his delivery and telling him how I felt managed to spark the beginning of me letting go of my crush on him.

Except, after I confessed he essentially treated me like I was a stalker of his or something. Completely ignoring any messages or small hellos and stuff in school. Wouldn’t even look my direction and coldly stare at me when I would be with my friends. He got super disgusted in my presence and just wanted nothing to do with me anymore. I was suprisingly ok with it however. To me it was like “It’s a bummer that we aren’t friends anymore but I’m happy that at least I got to tell him how I felt before we left school f o r e v e r”. 

Then I find out he essentially bullied one of my friends who had a crush on him as well but her one began a lot earlier and was a lot more intense. Like they had history and a real romantic story like damn jealous. But yeah he put her in a groupchat with a stranger and made her feel uncomfortable by egging on the stranger to flirt with her while she wasn’t having any of it. Also it was a dare and he felt comfortable putting one of his close classmates through that for entertainment despite the context of their relationship. Nice guy! In general he was a dick but I only realised after people pointed it out to me after my crush was well and truly gone. All the little interactions we had alluded to that but the people around me were like eh with it so it went under the radar. God forbid anything like that happens to me again. 

Who am I kidding, I fall in love with someone new every year :’(

[typei101]

“What do you dream of becoming when you’re older?” “A shit writer.”

Ever since I was 4 and learnt how to write simple sentences talking about who I am and where things are placed in a room, I knew I wanted to write. Something about writing phrases on a piece of lined paper put me in such a mental state I was addicted to. You could say I was my biggest fan. I used to parade my work into the face of teachers and family to read it and look in awe on how such a young person could write so well, but eventually as the years went on my fire slowly died away.

Whenever someone asked me “What do you want to be when you’re older?” I suddenly didn’t know what to say. My go to answer of an author just seemed like wishful thinking. Rather than parading my work into the faces of others I would tell them long, emotive stories about my dreams of being a writer and how my heart aches to regain the strength to write again. It would garner sympathy and passionate responses from people, namely my brother, but at one point it made me feel sick because I knew that what I was saying and what I was doing were simply lies.

I didn’t want to lie anymore: at 12 I decided I wouldn’t be a coward and I wanted to write again. I went on to Wattpad, the only place I felt safe in writing in. It had an environment of people too interested in bland generic stories to read my incomprehensible work, and it was such a large but accessible platform I could write comfortably without being judged. But what did I do? I still felt like there were eyes watching my work and I. Every second I wasn’t at the laptop checking on incognito to see if others could read my work, I was paranoid that somewhere, somehow someone I knew would use this as blackmail. So as an indefinite preventative measure, I made sure that everything I wrote was satirical. Over-exaggerated romance pieces on people doing disgusting or just stupid things with each other, with the themes matching up to whatever I knew the mainstream, or my friends would be into. When I was done making my confusing piece, I would send the link like wildfire to everyone I knew, just like how I used to when I was younger. Instead however, I was awaiting the reaction of confusion and horror instead of a proud pat on the back and the awe I was used to get high off.

I enjoyed being the funny friend in my circle, not only because I enjoyed making people laugh, but it lowered the standards people had of me making me feel so safe. I always wanted to feel safe in the company of others, always wanted to avoid being under the eye of scrutiny that I so mercilessly did with others in my spare time. I projected my biggest fears of someone latching onto my work to tear it down by doing it myself, and it only degenerated my work further and further. It got to the point where no one wanted to read my stories anymore. The shock and horror died down after they knew to expect weird wacky shit. I didn’t get the same kick out of writing it anymore either. It had seemed that what fire disappeared when I was 4 had died again.

I stopped writing for fun but instead found joy writing for my English GCSE. Tearing apart other people’s work, positively when writing for my grade but negatively when another person’s work was shown for us to learn about. I remember arguing with my English teacher about one particular piece that I found to be so stupid in getting that high of a grade. They made such a simple error in seeing a character as one dimensional in nature, when they were obvious layers to her, and the fact that 90% of the essay was building off of this bold assumption, it was bold of the examiner to give it an A grade. In a way, I felt jealous. Every time I wanted to answer an exam question, I would put so much thought into it, it seemed. I would make sure everything made sense to me as I’d write it, but then build on it so much more when writing it. I would proudly show my friends and teacher, and then when it came down to my mock exams consistently get low grades. It seemed like I wasn’t meeting expectations again, one of my biggest fears. All the passion I had for examining texts seemed to die, and right around the corner of the final exam season too. It all culminated with me getting a B in my final exam, when I had been projected to get an A*, one of the most crushing moments of my life. I left the hall that day with my grade close to my chest in quiet anger. My parents were disappointed in the way that parents would be no matter what the grade except for the ultimate best. But I was disappointed in what had happened. I escaped criticism for so long by not writing seriously and valuing my old works so much, but it truly seemed like I wasn’t on the same page everyone else was. I wanted to find my footing again. I wanted to write.

I began writing in secret, the only it would seem I could now. If I wanted to get on the same page as everyone I thought I had to do it alone. No one would care enough to cradle me and teach me how to be good, and it wouldn’t be good for me anyway. What I needed was strength, not a bullet point list on how to be a good writer. So began my long journey on figuring out how to the act of writing. I didn’t want to simply express whatever frustrations I had in jumbled words anymore. I just wanted to know how to convey feelings, thoughts and emotions through text again. The easiest way to do that was to write about what was easiest, and given my situation the easiest thing to do was to rant. So I opened up a private Instagram account where I would post pictures with long captions detailing frustrations I had in life with questions attached to almost every one of them. I needed to feel lost and confused, but more importantly I needed to keep the confusion in a place I could access later so I could hopefully learn from my mistakes. Soon enough my best friend found my account and wanted to read it. Though I was reluctant at first I let it happen, and soon my account changed back into a satirical account where I shitpost and repeated memes over and over again. So I deleted it. But the soothing effect that ranting gave me had reverted back to tension. So I opened another account. I let my friend follow. I shut the account down again. Again. Again.

I gave up on Instagram and began writing it on Tumblr. My friend didn’t know, but one day I told my brother about it and he read it. My Tumblr account emptied out shortly afterwards. I wrote some amazing things back then but I will never be able to get them back now. Regrets caused from being afraid of someone else’s opinion. In the end, I decided that I couldn’t even let the closest people in my life read my work, my fear and anxiety was deep rooted so far that I could only trust myself, even if that was because I didn’t have a choice. I moved back to Instagram, a private account.

My posts were brief at first, the first caption reading “I know I’m going to need to rant soon so I’m keeping this account open”. And so I did. I’ve been using this account for almost a year now, and no one follows it and it is one of the best things I have done. After writing there so much I decided I would give the old pen and paper a try. I began writing emotional rants with pretenses like “INCOMING EDGY TEENAGER FEELS !!!11” and other self-deprecating and satirical comments laden throughout the texts, so it was a safe way I could let out my feelings without taking myself too seriously.

These multiple venting methods stayed open, and along that came over a story, one I’m not proud of. But I’m proud of it. And I showed someone, and they didn’t get it and I didn’t care. I wrote something. I finished something. It stemmed from a place of irony in that I was mocking the vagueness of edgy fanfic but though at first I saw it as a joke and shared it as a joke, I enjoyed it. I analysed my own work, as vain as that is. And it serves as the main reason as to why I want to write again (again again).

 I finally realised today that I didn’t want to be someone who keeps ranting start and stop. I also realised my dreams of being an engineer stemmed from a place of anxiety because it was a safe option, and being an author isn’t. I still want to be an engineer, but I want to become a writer. A shitty writer. It’s better than being someone scared of other’s opinions, because at least the first title has “writer” in it. I’m here to make a fool of myself and I want to take pride in that.

[typei101]

He’s Different- 13

It's Done.

Air and water have betrayed me, and as the betrayer of my element I turn to them for help. This time, no one can save me. It's good, I've wanted this for a long time. Concrete says I have played its feelings for too long.

"Not this time. This time it will be permanent."

"What about the boy?"

"He's gone."

"You're a liar."

"Pardon?"

A hand reaches my cold shoulder. I don't look back, my gut tells me it's him. Instead, I grab his hand and we both fall. A scream emits from his throat, not mine. But as we fall, we become one.

"So I fell in love with myself..."

"Yes. And ironically, after falling in love with yourself you have finally ended your life."

"But, I have accomplished my goal at the end of my life."

I have pointed out the flaw in his methods- I have felt accomplished, and it is right before my demise. He sighs. How dare I challenge his thoughts, but be wrong? This is the true confidence I have, if my previous feelings were placebo. But all my feelings are real now, except due to physical complications with my corpse it is technically false. I lie to myself periodically anyways, so I accept this misjudgement.

Except this time, it's the truth.

BREAKING - LONE CORPSE FOUND AT THE FOOT OF A COMPANY BUILDING. WITHIN IT? WAX AND FIRE.

A broken candle was found in the living quarters of said unidentified victim, alongside multiple burnt feats of literature. The only surviving piece, found tucked under a poster of a man, details the victim's last thoughts leading to this moment. However, despite this evidence being attributed to her, no relatives or indication of someone we could trace to has risen. If the following words remind of you of someone you have lost, please contact the number overleaf this article:

TOXIC.

[typei101]

He’s Different- 12

That Ties The Knot

I get mad again. I left him alone for months at a time, vowing never to meet him. But just how they broke their wedding vows, I broke my personal vows. They ask me how I can be obsessed with him when I have another and a new life. I asked them if they have seen me end my life, so they smile and hug me. They don't apologise, which is good. The boy already apologised and broke me, if they apologised I wouldn't know what to do. But not knowing is how I have gotten this far. Maybe I should play with my bonds with them, and see what happens.

They refused to leave. That makes me feel stronger. They label me toxic. I like that nickname. Whenever I return to them, they tell me they love me and shut the door on my face. Perhaps this is why their marriage didn't last a fraction of their lives.

[typei101]

He’s Different- 11

He Tells Me Lies

"So, where do you live?" I ask the boy.

"I live in the stars."

I look up, and there's nothing there. I tell him so.

"It's your fault it doesn't exist anymore."

[typei101]

He’s Different- 10

I'm Not Weak

My obsession is a new manifestation of myself. They tell me they're happy I am enthusiastic over something, but warn me about engulfing myself with him. I remind them of who I am. They back away but cling on to my leg. I love them, but they are a bit irritating at times. Maybe it isn't their fault. Maybe it's mine.

"A fourth attempt? You're trying to stop your life again?" he says spitting rose water on the ground.

"It's my life."

"I control it."

"Since when?"

"Ever since you fell in love with me."

"...I never fell in love with you. Only who you presented to me."

"But it doesn't matter- the real Jungkook doesn't know you exist, but I do. I am what you imagined he would say, so allow me to save you again. Forget about me, and you will set yourself free."

"How?"

"I'll introduce more time in your life. Put that time to use, she'll keep you sane and safe. Build up yourself, forget about me. Then, come back to me when your foundation of your being is stronger. I also have some burnt goods you will find useful."

My charred books return home anew. I read them a lot now. Recently, I've seen construction being done on my candle. I guess everything is reverting back to normal again. Ever since I’ve falsely-forgotten about him, my life has been turning back to normal again. But normal doesn't remove my depression, just reverts it to a former state. I enter my bed to ask him about this problem. He responds with silence and shoos me away. He wants me to build foundation of character by starting fresh?

This is a good task. It will take me long to pursue, and maybe... maybe I will meet him at the end.

"You don't want to. I'm not a good boy either. So as you get better, so will I. When we both meet at the end, we will be so different it's as if we were two new people. Perhaps, even a third person will join?"

"Who?"

"Look at me... I'm talking to you when I shouldn't. I'm just as helpless as you are. Leave me be."

"What if I could save you?"

"D-don't."

"You're a fake... you tried to save me while you had no belief in yourself. Who are you? Why are you crumbling?"

"I'm sorry."

His apology hurt like fire. Why is he apologising? This isn't the boy I once knew. Wait, I never knew a boy. I will leave him for now and hope he improves his health. In the meantime, I have found another who suits my needs better. I have no time for fragile boys.

[typei101]

He’s Different- 09

He Who Talks

He met me again last night, and he told me he hated me. Hated me for not listening to his words. He insists he is trying to save me, but doesn't realise his way of saving me puts me with my own thoughts and harms me. I should tell him to stop trying, but he would take it playfully and squeeze my cheeks. I let him be, if only I could murder him and keep him as my own. His corpse is a beauty but his personality is gasoline. I tell him to wake up and everything turns black. How does he have power over me?

[typei101]

He’s Different- 08

Is Three Times Not Enough?

From paper-cuts, to glass. I touch my glass to please me, with sights and sounds he delivers. He knows I use him, but I feel no negative impact as he doesn't know I exist. I keep pictures of him, false-memories. I like to concoct memories of us together when I'm alone. I am always alone. My family remind me I'm not, and then leave me be. Perhaps falling isn't the way to meet the boy who lives in the stars. Perhaps surrounding myself with the sea is the way.

School tried to teach me how to swim. It threw me in the deep end and now I throw myself willingly there too. My weak will gives in.

"You're so smart." they say. I try to smile, instead I tell them to leave me. They don't. I'm thankful they didn't listen to me, sometimes I wish I would do the same. How can someone smart on paper be so dumb in real life?

"She's drowning!" one of them shout. I laugh to myself and keep my eyes closed. I'm a patient girl. I wave goodbye and smile, then continue to hold myself to the ground. I am my anchor, no one has forced me to be this way. People insist there are methods to my madness, but there isn't. I act on feeling, I have no queries with logic. Another body enters the deep end. They succeed in rescuing me and breathing me back to life. Another waste. Another waste.

[typei101]

He’s Different- 07

A Second Try Is Worth Nothing

"Jungkook!" I shout, waving my limbs in his direction. He mocks me, and wakes me up. How, how has nothing changed? I know nothing is different now, yet I do not know how I was lead to believe otherwise. I visit an old friend who has once before helped me with my problems. Concrete nods knowingly. This time, my efforts have not succeeded. That means that I used my ticket out of life aimlessly, and now cannot exit when I please. I sigh.

[typei101]

He’s Different- 06

Second Chances

The school meets me with shocked eyes as I try to force myself in, like he did once before. My name is plastered around everywhere as if I had died. But I notice the fake-sad comments and realise, ah. I was dead. He says he will take me back, but I misinterpreted this as a reset in my form, a reverse in time. Yet, he has made me flesh again in real time. What an embarrassment. The flush of red in my cheeks was an indicator of me rejecting what was going on and leaving for good. Now I live in the 15th floor of an apartment in a foreign land.

I have left them, but he has not left me. I see his face plastered everywhere as my name once was. But this time associated with colour and vigour. He looks like a husk of the boy I know, but something deep within me tells me to go with my gut instinct. Ah, but that is redundant! How do I allow myself to keep falling for false truths?

Well, my body reminds me I am here, with a pain in my stomach. I am glad to receive this, and punch thank you back. Without me noticing, he appears. He blends in a lot seamlessly here than back home, but that was because last time I only saw him through glass. Now I see him in flesh.

[typei101]

He’s Different- 05

Will I Succeed?

They tell me not to. They send pictures and text, all a blur to me. My tear-tinted glasses clear a path to high grounds. I look down and I feel the warmth of the candle deep inside. Is it within me, or is it the concrete? I leave the solid beneath my feet to find out. The concrete swallows me whole, laughing maniacally. Why, I have fallen for a trap. The same trap that made me trust other humans. Do I regret this decision? Of course not.

They say he lives in the stars. Now I have truly met him. However, he tells me things I do not wish to hear. He tells me I can go back. But turning back is undoing work, and I want to feel accomplished at the end of my life. He points out the flaw in my methods- I have felt accomplished, but only after the end of my life. I sigh. How dare he challenge my thoughts, but be right? This is the true confidence I have, if my previous feelings were placebo. But all my feelings are real now, except due to physical complications with my corpse it is technically false. I lie to myself periodically anyways, so I accept this misjudgement.

I am 6ft under, but at least I have met him.

"You have not."

"Pardon?"

"I do not appreciate this path you have chosen. Allow me to take you back."

"I do not wish so."

"Then by force, I will."

A candle lit the Victorian-style room I slept in. Embracing the warmth, I brought my books to it and immersed myself in the faint heat radiating in Winter's wake. I exhaled deeply, and shut my eyes. Soon after, I woke up. Oh no, I slept.

[typei101]

He’s Different- 04

The First Change

Sometimes I squeeze my wrist to watch the colour rush to my hand. It reminds me I can feel desperate, and keeps my patience in check. The amount of tangible and intangible things I keep track of make me wish I was virtual, at least I would entertain others on purpose then. I like to talk to myself, when I mention this they look down on me. They say they do the same, yet somehow I feel less than them. Is it their other features? I would say I am quite confident in my own. Ah- but I do not know confidence, perhaps this placebo has made itself apparent now.

I have been thinking too much, I ask for the boy to invade my thoughts again. Perhaps he has received my message too late, for he enters at the moment I am on stage speaking to an audience. I let him in, but my physical body does not respond. The bored interest from everyone's faces median to a confused expression. He realises this and leaves me alone to face his consequences. In the moment, I felt anger. Now, I feel happy.

I sit alone in garden, they have left me with a sick note and a temporary heartache. Why do I take everything too far, and too dramatically? My emotions, the boy. I wait for him to appear, I see a glimpse. He looks the way I am obstructing, smiles to himself, and continues walking. Enough human interaction for another 24 hours

"Who are you?" He asks me while I sleep. I reply with honesty, and tell him I do not know. He mocks me and wakes me up. Then I peer over to my books and they have given up. The fire has caught up with my time-wasting, and now I feel the consequences. I am changing, yet I do not know how.

My physical form has met him before: I noticed one afternoon in the bath. He asked for a piece of stationary, which I declined. He then gave me compliments until I gave in. Ah, I have lied to myself again. I smile, my frown declines the same way in which I have done to the boy. I try to be happy, I feel as though this will be left unchecked at the end of my journey however. My dilemma is if I should accept defeat or naively persist. I choose the former.

[typei101]

He’s Different- 03

I Tell Myself Lies Everyday

The candle has reached a significant shortness. It’s cute how it is stuck to the floor. I will hope my parents do not notice this on their rare visits. The books long for me, I haven't played with them ever since the boy has occupied my thoughts. I remind myself before I leave to apologise to them, but the inanimate objects do not wish to reply. I sigh to leave them with a piece of me. That is the reason they haven't dusted over 3 months.

[typei101]

He’s Different- 02

A Friend A Foe

I had to leave the next morning, my books whining as I closed the grand-white double doors to the outdoor world. Every colour I saw outside was a harmonious grey - was it because my heavy heart had made me colour-blind? Even the fog from my mouth left me emotionally-dry. This was another cycle of my life, and I had to endure it despite my opposition to my existence. But, people relied on me, people need me. If I ended it here, why I would just put someone else in the same place I am now? At least, that's what I had convinced myself. How ironic that the only thing keeping me alive is a lie I tell myself every day.

I do not wish to discuss school. We have a simple relationship - I use it for my emotional gain and it uses me for its financial gain. Without school, I would have never felt so moody, depressed, anxious, and guilty for simple trifles I could never encounter less I was in the school environment. One thing I can allow myself to appreciate however are the students. So irritating, but useful for building tolerance and resistance. Sometimes, you find a human you like. You talk to that human, they talk back. One day after talking back and forth for endless hours, you feel a longing to see them again. I have found quite a few who fit this category, and they like to tell me interesting things.

A common topic that arises is a tale of a boy, who they insist is real. I don't believe them. My past experiences, that are more akin to scars then real life-lessons, have taught me such a care-free but grounded spirit of a man hardly exists. But they say he's real, and he lives in the stars. One says, "He stares out the window every lesson, he's so cute! I wonder what he thinks about-". Then I realise, ah. A mere crush. I brush those comments away and continue with my life. But, yet he appears. Again and again, slowly becoming the 4th member of our circle. I feel as if he is always with me, despite existing in words. "I agree."

I have seen him, but he isn't the one I tell myself. A peculiar look, his visuals stick out from among them. Yet, he blends in, like a sparkle you notice but cannot find the source of. I have tried searching. It has lead me to a quiet area in the school garden.

I try to approach him, but a bell interrupts my actions. Next time, I will talk to him. Next time replies, "you will not." I have not. This repeats, like the tolerance-building my subordinates have taught me, I will try again. This pursuit is keeping me from talking to myself. It helps me keep sane. I come home however, and now it's just my literature and I. Now I feel at home.

[typei101]

He’s Different- 01

The Starting Flame

A candle lit the Victorian-style room I slept in. Embracing the warmth, I brought my books with me and immersed myself in the faint heat radiating in Winter's wake. I exhaled deeply, and shut my eyes. Soon after, I woke up. Oh no, I slept.

[typei101]

It’s Warmer Inside

“The Body Shop, for new prying eyes;

The Body Shop, I’m sure you’ll be surprised;

For The Body Shop, who knows what lies?

Try one on, and buy one that’s your size!” proudly reads the sign outside the aptly named Body Shop.

“Interesting…” one prying eye thinks to herself, dethatching from her group of friends who keep on walking forward. A clerk inside notices the one customer, as rare as they come, and laps up the opportunity like a rabid dog.

“Why hello there and welcome to The Body Shop! I’m sure we can help you in getting that extra boost of confidence through breathable, lightweight and affordable skinwear!” he begins as soon as stepping foot below the pristine door frame of the untouched store. A smile plastered on his face and his foot tapping, half to show his enthusiasm and half because of his growing impatience, one could imagine the pressure being placed on the poor girl.

She stutters multiple responses to his cold greeting, perhaps a rejection littered in there somewhere. However, as the attempts of speaking slowly fail the customer, she and the clerk come to a standstill. The clerk slowly walks up to her, wide face still brimming with energy, and begins caressing her skin while closing his eyes, as if to begin a free fortune telling.

“Yes… coarse and a little tight along the edges… but here it is saggy… no no no this won’t do at all! Young woman, you are of teenager age, no?”

Through pressed cheeks the customer agrees.

“Ah… then you are in a time where your skin cells are dying left, right, and centre!”, he says each final word attacking the air with his hand in the direction, then composing himself with the smile quickly turning into a frown. “I feel for you you know? I really do. A girl like you… one with youth, innocence, inner beauty…”he emphasises while circling the girl like a vulture circling potential food. He stops behind the customer and slowly places his chin over her shoulder, not breaking eye contact. The customer’s eyes does not look back at him however, for they look fixated, no, entranced!- The Body Shop. He had secured the food, and gently presses his hands on her back to lead her into the shop.

The frame was like a potion, for when the customer steps in she becomes infused with the same mystical energy that the clerk held just moments before. He need not do anything now but sit and wait. The customer whizzes around the shop browsing different skin colours, body shapes, face shapes, freckles, pointed noses,

“Perhaps an albino?” she thinks out loud. She quickly shakes her head and again, she makes the rounds.

Finally, one skin catches her eye. It was her same skin tone, similar complexion, yet somehow refreshing and new. Without consulting the clerk, she buys it and is on her way to showing off her youth, innocence, and inner beauty with a skin change. Now a proud customer, she walks up to the clerk with sparkling eyes. “May I change into this before leaving?”

“Oh of course! Changing rooms are down the hall, to the left.” Comes the quick reply. Before the clerk can smile at her, she turns on her heels and walks swiftly to the room mentioned.

She does not wait a second in there before stripping down her own skin and putting on the new one.

“A perfect fit!” she exclaims. Once on, she takes a good look in the mirror and as if through some instinct, makes her expression more mature, vivid, and sultry.

“Hm, maybe a mature look does suit me more” were one of the many comments she made to herself while turning around and stopping ever so often to take a good look at her new body, “This must be the inner beauty he was talking about!”

While turning, she sees a darkened patch of skin on the side of her rib cage. “A blemish! What kind of quality-“ that thought is cut off by the blemish itself, “This isn’t a bruise in the body, a mistake in manufacturing… this is a birthmark.”

The more she stares at it the more her eyes widen. She looks at her skin on the floor, and notices how eerily well it would fit in being just one of the many products lined up in the store. The birthmark on her hand and the new birthmark on the side of her rib look similar, there is no mistaking that this blemish is indeed a birthmark.

“How’s the fit young lady?” Comes a sudden voice from outside, startling the customer. She however, is now panicking, the spell lifted from her naivety.

“What am I wearing? …Who am I wearing?” she utters to herself, barely believing the words coming out of her mouth.

“Pardon? Didn’t quite catch that!” he replies loudly, the smile on his face audible through the curtain.

“U-uh yeah, there seems to be a p-p-problem?”

“Oh? Do you mind if I walk in and take a look? Would you prefer to hand me the skin instead?”

“N-no well it’s just that- oh come in.” The curtain is lifted and the naked customer is revealed, cold in the face but not pale in her complexion. She stands side on to the clerk, making the birthmark visible. He looks unfazed.

“Oh sweetie! That’s just a feature. My, my it is most certainly not anything to be worried about!”

“…”

He could tell he is not convincing the customer one bit.

He slowly approaches her, not losing the smile he had before, until the two people are barely an inch away from each other. Feeling her faltering breath, he leans towards her ear again, this time saying in a low cool tone-

“You have to leave now”, the low frequencies chilling half the customer’s spine before the sensation is abruptly cut off. Though asked to leave, she stays frozen on the ground, but you could not tell if it was by choice.

“I gave you the warning. Just leave now, skin and all, and never speak of this again. We are very hurt by unhappy customers, and do not wish for this minor conflict to blemish our clear reputation. If you would leave now and never speak of this again, you would be in our good graces.” He says slowly, pausing before every clause.

But she does not move.

“Do not play dead with me- oh my, she really is gone.” He waves his hand over her face, her reaction the same as before. Out comes a sigh the murderer must have been holding in for a long time as he begins hauling the body away.

Thank you for shopping at The Body Shop, come again soon!