odile quintanilla : d3 : fin
Jan 6, 2015 20:22:53 GMT -5
Post by goat on Jan 6, 2015 20:22:53 GMT -5
What do you know, Odile? Tell me, what do you know? You cannot tell me, because you don't know anything. You know nothing, nothing of the world.
Odile should be pretty. Odile should not sleep until 5 pm and stay awake until 6 am. Odile should brush her hair for once, and brush her teeth as well. Odile, your teeth are yellowing. They're going to fall out soon. You should shower, Odile. You haven't showered in weeks. You should shower with the lovely smelling soaps your mother bought you. It'll make your pink skin smell sweet. Don't you want to smell sweet?
Your chestnut hair has knotted itself beyond belief. Why don't you take care of yourself, Odile? Nobody will love you unless you love yourself. Get out of bed, rub the sleep from your brown eyes. Go pick some fresh clothes. You've been wearing that same outfit for days, Odile. Throwing an oversized jacket over it wont hide the stench. Wait a minute, are you drunk? Odile. Your father would be ashamed of you.
Yesterday was your birthday, Odile. You got drunk slept through it. How sad, to be so drunk you forget your own birthday
You have talent. You could be useful if you just applied yourself. Why don't you?
You are sad. You are very, very sad, and I am sorry for that
I lose track of who I am sometimes. I have to keep a list on my bedside table, so when I wake up everyday I remember. My name is Odile Quintanilla. I am sixteen- no, let me scratch that out. Now I am seventeen. My eyes are brown. My hair is brown too, except sometimes it's red. Sometimes it's green, too. But when I proudly announce the new hair color I've woken up with, everyone shakes their head and tells me it's still brown.
They don't know. I know.
I wasn't born from stardust or laughter or whatever. I was apparently born from my mother, like every other baby. I'd like to think I was born from planets colliding in a hail of shattering glass. Maybe I was, and everyone is lying to me. Thats all they do. They think they know everything
Fucking liar.
I was a child who did nothing. I had nobody
Leave me alone.
I never had friends. Maybe it was the scales sprouting from my forearms, or the bugs that would crawl out of my eyes and onto my face. I saw it, I swear, it really happened. Nobody believes me. Nobody listens. Even my own mind cannot listen
My mom is stuck with me. She can't ever keep her rude words to herself, and screams them into my ear whenever she can. My dad died because he knew I'd never accomplish anything, she says. What a cruel thing to say. She's batshit, worse than me. But there's a nagging feeling in my head that she's right.
Something is not right with me. I am disoriented. The colors and words and people- they are not always real sometimes. Mom, she owns the factory now. She says I can come to work "whenever I stop being lazy". I am not being lazy. She makes me feel bad. I slap myself, over and over until my head stings. I am not nice to myself. I yell at myself more than I speak to others. Because what they say is true- I am a freak, a disappointment. I will never be more.
odile quintanilla
female
district 3
codeword: odair
faceclaim: jennifer damiano
