Huffpost Teen

TEEN FICTION: 'Broken Mirror'

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This is a regular column featuring original poetry and fiction by and for teens, provided by Figment.com, an online community writing site for young people.

By Emilie

I woke to the rambling of my phone on the hard wood frame of my bed. My eyes were still asleep as I pushed away from the warm barrier of blankets and fluffy pillows. My toes hit the cold tile floor as I shuffled my way to the doorway of light. With strain in my head from the sudden change from the gloomy cave of my enclosed room to the flouresent living room, with milky coated trees sitting just beyond the windows, I walked towards the restroom.

Groaning, I reached the bathroom to immediately face the looking-glass spread across the dull walls. My heart dropped seeing the reflection. No matter how many times I turned to look at my shimmery reflection, nothing was perfect. Everytime I looked in the mirror, I felt ashamed. Twenty-four hours of everyday I thought about trying to fix myself, how I could look prettier.

"UGH!" I said and hid my face from the mirror, grabbing a wash cloth and dampening it with warm water. I pat the moisture on my face, wiping the remaints of mascara under my eyes. Unhappy with my apperance I brushed my untamed hair and applied fresh black mascara to my outstretching lashes. I pulled on some clothes and rushed out the front door, a slam claiming my abscence.

Once I stepped outside, the fresh snow crunched under my grey boots, my breath floated formed a cloud and floated up into the atmosphere. I reached my frozen hand into my tight pocket and pulled out my iPod. I switched it on and shuffled to find my favorite song. As soon as it began playing I turned up the volume so I could no longer hear the rush of cars driving past. Smiling, my feet hit the sidewalk to the beat of the song and suddenly my world turned into a glorious place, there was no pain just music beating in everyone's ears.

I reached the school and quickly ran in the doors, a gust of hot air hit my face. I trotted down the hall, my headphones still beating loudly. I threw my coat and backpack in my locker, ripped my headphones out my ears and shut the door, I barely made it to class on time. School was a drag, I always felt as if someone would say something to me, about how I looked, or what I liked. In school, to fit in you have to like everything everyone else likes. Style of clothes, how you talk, what tv show you like; its like you're being fake for eight hours of everyday.

But as soon as the last bell rang, I was free to be who I wanted to be, do the things I wanted to do. I grabbed my iPod from my locker, it was still playing. I put began to listen to the music and threw on my heavy coat. I said bye to a few people then practically jumped out the door. As soon as I was outside, my favorite song came on again. As if it had never stopped playing in my head.

I may pretend to talk a certain way, or do things to fit in, but my music is what inspires me. Without it, I don't know what I would do.

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