taipei: (Default)
amy ♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ ([personal profile] taipei) wrote2012-01-03 08:11 pm

[january fourth] walls the color of tears.

For some reason this scene/prompt stuck with me enough to try out tonight. It's just a bit of Hannah's background with a very quick cameo by Yoon.

Once upon a time, Hannah wore the skirt of her school uniform a little too high. She enjoyed how it made her legs look longer than they were, and how that extra inch made the boys in her class stare a little longer than they should. Back then she had chestnut hair which fell in perfect, silky strands down her shoulders. She laughed and the room turned to watch her. She had a kind of power over those around her.

Through high school she had the same best friend, a girl the same age who wasn't quite as pretty but whom Hannah enjoyed having by her side. When they were alone, Hannah could tie her hair up into ugly pigtails and make ridiculous faces without fearing a tarnished image. Her friend was her escape, but Hannah can't remember her name now. It's for the best, she thinks.

The night before prom, as the two of them primped before the too-small mirror in Hannah's bathroom, her friend stopped smiling. She gently placed a hand on Hannah's naked shoulder and tears gleamed in her pale blue eyes. "Look at you," she whispered.

Hannah cracked a smile and gave a coquettish shrug, returning to the mirror.

"Do you know how painful it is, standing next to you every day?"

Hannah was staring at the sink when the words reached her. Her perfect smile faltered, and she felt the hand on her shoulder recede. She knew, of course she knew. Those watery blue eyes observed her, blushing with infuriating shame, but she couldn't look up. Not because she couldn't face her friend, but because she didn't want to look at herself.

"I'm sorry," she replied, her voice high and artificial. The door closed and Hannah was alone for the first time in her life.

She attended prom, and everyone remembered it as the last time they saw the "real" Hannah. She was the immaculate image of a blue-tingled snowflake in her fluttering, flowing gown, which she poured gasoline on and burnt in an abandoned dumpster the next morning.

In a thrift store she found a knee-length, dingy coat. It was a dirty green reminiscent of something military, but it felt soft beneath her fingers. She purchased it and a set of multicolored knit scarves for $3.15.

She went to university in a city as far north as she could get, where she could hide her pale skin beneath those scarves and dress in layers of baggy clothing. She clipped her nails shorts and switched from contacts back to a pair of large-framed classes, which had a habit of flying off of her face.

That particular morning her little fingers were the only parts of her visible thanks to the cold morning air. She was passing through a familiar intersection when she was stopped by an unfamiliar voice.

It said, "You're not fooling anyone."

She turned with a sharp glare to a man seated on the brick railing leading to one of the condemned townhouses. This intersection wasn't in the best part of town, but she knew she had nothing to fear from the skinny, almost bony, boy strumming his guitar and grinning like he knew a fatal secret.

"Excuse me?" she replied, assuming her not habitual clipped, haughty tone.

"I know you," the man said, or rather sang, humming along to the bight melody he was playing. "You're the most beautiful girl in the world."

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