My New Charrie Amilie
Sept 28, 2013 13:26:45 GMT -5
Post by karou on Sept 28, 2013 13:26:45 GMT -5
I'm Amilie June, you pronounce it Emily but my mother wanted it to be unique. I live in District one and am one of the "pretty" rich girls. These are my good qualities according to my mother: I am tall and very slender, but my figure is not quite boyish. I also have toned, if a bit wiry, muscles. My mother insists on me working out to keep my body looking good. My skin is a medium honey shade of tan. I have wide brown eyes and dark, curly hair that I've heard I inherited from my father.
These are my bad qualities accortding to Mother (and probably anyone else who sees them): I have scars on my stomach from hurting myself and burn marks on my legs from escaping a house fire we had when I was little, but at least they are hidden by my clothes. Im sure there are other things she finds wrong but those are the biggest ones. I can't ever live up to her expectations.
She says I come across as snobby and stuck up to some people, because I don't really talk to anyone. Not at school, not in the shops, and not when I see them on the street. I'm not very good at socializing and making friends and getting close to people. I like being able to quietly sit and think.
I don't like people because they make me feel uncomfortable, the way they look at me because im pretty. I don't like the feeling of being for sale. Like I could be bought or sold at any moment, bad enought that Mommy Dearest treats me like property. Using what is left of my beauty after she dresses me to cover up those "ugly scars" as she calls them. Thats right, I'm 17 years old and my mother STILL insist on inspecting me outright at least, if not picking my clothes out for me. I hate it when she tells me what to wear. She dresses me in the prettiest clothes we can afford. I however, hate them. They draw attention and people's eyes to me. I'd much rather be able to fade into the shadows. My style is chic dark greys and blues and black, something that doesn't make me stand out, she likes bright, showy, and super fashionable clothes.
I am really painfully shy. However I play the good obedient daughter and exhibit social graces. I put on the face of somebody brave and friendly and outgoing so I can pretend I don't hear voices in my head, constantly screaming at me. Even though I don't talk to people I still have several friends that have been hand picked (by me or mother, but according to her standards) and that makes me reasonably popular.
Now I'm going to tell you about my life, but I warn you its not a very pleasant story. Sure my life looks picture perfect from the outside. My family is very well off and I might not have to work immediately out of school, however my mother is trying to find me the "perfect match" like thats any better. She feels like she was cheated out of bettering herself by me. But I'll get to that.
I'll start my story with the fire we had when I was little, about six years old. My family was even better off than we are now, because we had a bigger, better home and more things. I was always a pretty child, and in my early years I was friendly and energetic. Then one warm summer night while I was sleeping, our family home caught fire. I woke up to smoke everywhere and screams. The smell of burning wood and the crackling of the fire. I grabbed up my stuff that I could reach and ran out of my bedroom, flames eating at my legs. I got out, but almost died of infected burns.
As I recovered and my mother realized I'd have scars on my legs, she turned cold. I wouldn't be able to do any fashion careers and better her situation, so I was useless. Her thoughts turned toward making sure I make a good match and marry well. It became her obsession, and I went along with it because I was trying to earn back her love. As I grew older, I realized I would never be good enough, so I started punishing myself, creating more scars, but none where anyone could see them. It got to the point where I hated going out in public, because I felt like everyone was judging me.
The only reason I go anywhere, besides school, is my mother tells me I have to. That I have to get out in the world and meet people so I can make a good match. I have to put on a brave face and smile and laugh and make friends. And then I can't even pick my own, Mother has to approve them. They have to be just as pretty (or handsome) as me and well off. All the snobby elite that never have any fun, except parties and those are too loud. They aren't the friends I'd chose, but then again I have no choice.
These are my bad qualities accortding to Mother (and probably anyone else who sees them): I have scars on my stomach from hurting myself and burn marks on my legs from escaping a house fire we had when I was little, but at least they are hidden by my clothes. Im sure there are other things she finds wrong but those are the biggest ones. I can't ever live up to her expectations.
She says I come across as snobby and stuck up to some people, because I don't really talk to anyone. Not at school, not in the shops, and not when I see them on the street. I'm not very good at socializing and making friends and getting close to people. I like being able to quietly sit and think.
I don't like people because they make me feel uncomfortable, the way they look at me because im pretty. I don't like the feeling of being for sale. Like I could be bought or sold at any moment, bad enought that Mommy Dearest treats me like property. Using what is left of my beauty after she dresses me to cover up those "ugly scars" as she calls them. Thats right, I'm 17 years old and my mother STILL insist on inspecting me outright at least, if not picking my clothes out for me. I hate it when she tells me what to wear. She dresses me in the prettiest clothes we can afford. I however, hate them. They draw attention and people's eyes to me. I'd much rather be able to fade into the shadows. My style is chic dark greys and blues and black, something that doesn't make me stand out, she likes bright, showy, and super fashionable clothes.
I am really painfully shy. However I play the good obedient daughter and exhibit social graces. I put on the face of somebody brave and friendly and outgoing so I can pretend I don't hear voices in my head, constantly screaming at me. Even though I don't talk to people I still have several friends that have been hand picked (by me or mother, but according to her standards) and that makes me reasonably popular.
Now I'm going to tell you about my life, but I warn you its not a very pleasant story. Sure my life looks picture perfect from the outside. My family is very well off and I might not have to work immediately out of school, however my mother is trying to find me the "perfect match" like thats any better. She feels like she was cheated out of bettering herself by me. But I'll get to that.
I'll start my story with the fire we had when I was little, about six years old. My family was even better off than we are now, because we had a bigger, better home and more things. I was always a pretty child, and in my early years I was friendly and energetic. Then one warm summer night while I was sleeping, our family home caught fire. I woke up to smoke everywhere and screams. The smell of burning wood and the crackling of the fire. I grabbed up my stuff that I could reach and ran out of my bedroom, flames eating at my legs. I got out, but almost died of infected burns.
As I recovered and my mother realized I'd have scars on my legs, she turned cold. I wouldn't be able to do any fashion careers and better her situation, so I was useless. Her thoughts turned toward making sure I make a good match and marry well. It became her obsession, and I went along with it because I was trying to earn back her love. As I grew older, I realized I would never be good enough, so I started punishing myself, creating more scars, but none where anyone could see them. It got to the point where I hated going out in public, because I felt like everyone was judging me.
The only reason I go anywhere, besides school, is my mother tells me I have to. That I have to get out in the world and meet people so I can make a good match. I have to put on a brave face and smile and laugh and make friends. And then I can't even pick my own, Mother has to approve them. They have to be just as pretty (or handsome) as me and well off. All the snobby elite that never have any fun, except parties and those are too loud. They aren't the friends I'd chose, but then again I have no choice.
