I found the pretty blue pen, which hides pretty dark things in pretty mediocre blue font. My pretty blue eyes hiding pretty blue lies with my pretty little smile that is shown everyone once in a while. Pretty lucky to be seen as so dang pretty. I should be pretty grateful for my pale skin and Barbie doll blonde hair. Perfectly shaded pink lips, but I have always hated perfection. So I bite them until pain screams in red. Pretty little white girl with the bleeding lip, with the bleeding heart, and with the bleeding soul. My blood drips from my eyes in clear drops. It vaporizes in my lungs, then leaves my mouth. My pretty little mouth. Good for one thing so down on my knees to satisfy his needs. He tells me I am pretty, so I must be pretty grateful. Pretty meaningful because the words of a man have always been made to determine a woman’s worth. A pretty world were being pretty is pretty much everything. So thank fucking God he thinks I’m pretty. Because if I wasn’t I’d be pretty useless and pretty ignored. Pretty unsuccessful in a world where looks are the only way to climb ladders except one. If I weren’t pretty I’d be pretty torn up in my head from the lack of value, which should have been found on my skin. But it wasn’t my skin. It was never my skin. Never me. If I weren’t pretty I probably hate myself. Probably be pretty suicidal. Probably be climbing that one ladder I can touch with my unwanted skin. A ladder up to the heavens gates. The only place where my unpretty might be accepted. Might. Might not. Maybe God himself would look at my pretty ugly face and send me down. Down to hell. Where my skin would burn off my bones and then I would finally be the same as everyone else. The pretty unperfect people. The pretty accepted people. Hell, the only place where an ugly person may belong.
Cold silence fills my surroundings and I grow with impatience. I can’t do this anymore. My eyes open for the first time in this world for me to find total darkness. My eyes frantically scan for an answer. My eyes meet something shimmering at my feet. I grab it and an energy explodes in a form of light and I can see nothing. I rub my fingers across the item and suddenly I wince from pain. My fingers slide over the sharp edge and I smile with anticipation. Slowly I run the sharp edge down my arm as my eyes tighten from the slight pain. A warmth forms at the intersection of the blade and my skin. I feel the blood glide across my skin and pool down the side of my arm. My blood drips away from my skin towards the ground. Flashes of light peak into my shut eyelids moments after each drop leaves my skin. My eyes remain locked and I feel a heat against my face. Fear swims through my body and my desire to open my eyes forms a stronger current. My eyes slingshot open and are immediately overwhelmed by light. I watch as my blood dribbles to the ground and forms gorgeous flames at my feet. Another shimmer appears in the distance and I run to it without hesitation. I grab the sharp edge. I quickly slice open my other arm and shake off the blood as I birth fire. I rub my hands across my cuts trying to scrape my blood onto the floor. Small flames form, but I am nowhere near satisfied. A shimmer in the distance and I sprint. Cut after cut, I bleed and bleed. My body finally taken over by pain as a tear rolls down my face onto a flame. My tear mixes into the flame and I watch as lava forms. I am overtaken and I must create more. A shimmer and this time I cut for pain. Tears pour from my eyes and lava forms within each crevice. I collapse to my knees as my body finally reaches its limit. The last of my tears and blood gather in front of me. I lay in pain as eyes are too dry to form tears and as my veins are too empty to spew blood. I blink in the light and beauty of my creation as I find comfort in the end. A hand extends itself from the lava that has gathered in front of me. I watch as it shapes into recognizable anatomy. My very own child forms as I die. I watch as my son grows in front of my eyes, while I shrink. Seconds later he stands with the height of a grown man as I have withered away to nothing more than skin and bones . “My son”, I mutter as life leaves my body and fills his soul, “Hades”.