Proper Miller-District 1 (Finished)

Opening her eyes, Proper Ann Miller wakes up from a dreamless sleep. "I've decided to write my own biography." She says to no one in particular. It had been her idea the night before, to leave her mark on the world. She was going to write about herself, and explain her history. Wouldn't it be great? Maybe not, who would ever see it? Possibly no one, but she needed something to do, and so then and there she would do it. She rolls her legs off the side of the bed and grabs a stray sheet of paper from the floor. She grabs a book and uses it as a desk. Then she begins her story.

My name is Proper Ann Miller, and I'm a 17-year-old young lady from District 1. I'm going to write a bit about myself, what I look like, how I see my personality, and a whole bunch of my history. A few things bother me in life, and I hope to be able to write them down and be rid of them. Sometimes... I feel like something is wrong with me. Maybe there isn't, but didn't you ever wonder if there was? Anyways, I'll describe myself in three groups. First I'll tell you what I look like. Then what I act like, and then i'll write about my personality.

I have wavy strawberry-blonde hair that falls just below my shoulders. My mother always fusses and tells me to comb it at least twice a day; which I do to be free from her bickering. My skin is clear and a light shade of ivory; I always wear blush on my cheeks. Mother says it makes me look presentable;I say I look fake. My eyes are described as an "amazing water green". They seem to capture some sort of conflicted beauty.



My lips are full; and I usually have gloss applied to them;much to my mother's liking and even more to my demise. I am of an hourglass figure.I am 5'7 in height, and weigh 161 pounds. Sometimes I feel like a porcelain doll. So pretty...But not real.

I am a conflicted young woman. I want to be with the boys, maybe wrestle in the dirt. But my mother makes me act lady-like and presentable. I can see why I guess; she's a manager of a big factory, a widow and mother of one child. Everyone suspected someone like her to have a great daughter. So mother has to make sure I am just that.

I see things for what they are; I don't know how to see behind the surface anymore. After all, all I am is a translucent window. So see-through...Yet blocked from the inner me. All I ever want to do is break free...But could I ever handle the pain of the breaking glass? Or worse, the face of my mother who suspects so much of me? I seriously doubt it.

I want to be the brave girl I know I am. Take charge. Live a little. Feel the world under my thumb. Get a few scars, find someone to love...But I know I'll never break this window unless I truly understand myself. And how do you understand something translucent...?

I was born to Polyester and Glisten Miller. My father, Polyester, was a caring man. Always shrived towards what he believed in. He met Glisten O'Casey while working at a factory at twenty-two years of age. Glisten, my mother, was the manager at that certain factory. She was a stern woman, tough-as-nails, and always got what she wanted. She still is that way...sadly.

The two hit it off slowly. Starting as manager and worker. Then acquaintances. Then friends. The best friends. Then lovers. And then finally, a couple with a child on the way. Proper Ann Miller. Me...

Sadly, only a month after my birth, my father was struck down with an illness. He died a week after catching the disease. Leaving a once strong,and tough-as-nails Glisten to raise the child on her on. At first, my mother was solemn. Depressed. A shell of her former self. Then she realized who she was. The girl everyone envied. The manager. The beauty. The heart-broken widow who was the mother of a great child...But wait. My mother realized it.To reach these expectations, her daughter had to be great...

"Head up, shoulders straight." These became common commands to me since a young age. My mother wanted to be what everyone envied. So in return I had to be the daughter every mother envied. I remember fondly the first time I touched mud. It was after a spring rain. I was five. I stepped off the porch and stuck a finger into a brown blob of it. But my memory ends there. Except for the vague remembrance of a stinging bottom.

Mother rarely let me leave the house. Sometimes she would let me leave to go to her job with her; so she could flaunt me around. Everyone said how pretty I was...How lady-like I was. But I know what all of them were thinking...Exactly what I was thinking...How fake I was. I was also allowed to leave the house for school. I was never a good student; lets just say.

Not that I wanted to learn. Oh, how I longed to learn...Learn of things so much more than myself. But, according to my mother, I never had the time to study or do homework. Which in turn, causes bad grades. At first I was confused. Shouldn't she want a smart daughter? I began to think that all she wanted was a beautiful daughter with manners...But there was more to it. She wanted a beautiful daughter with manners...and no brains.

It's quite obvious. I can tell. If I learned things, maybe I could rise up against her. Be my own person. Rebel against her. Rebellion...Rebellion...That seems to be the only other word that dances in my mind besides 'fake'.

Oh, how I with this fake girl could start a rebellion...

Rebellion~Fake~Rebellion