Outcast

She was only fourteen when she got her first tattoo. Her parents were gonna kill her. But she didn’t really care. Oh yeah, she wasn’t past the legal age After all, she hadn’t start caring since four years ago, when she dabbled in everything that her parents disapproved of. Drugs, sex, alcohol-binging, you name it, she did it. She had the scars to prove it as well. Her slim forearms, once beautiful were now pockmarked with the scars of needles that she used to inject herself.

She didn’t really like the fact that her parents were filthy rich, and that there were some kids out there who had to beg for their every meal, or even take to robbing the convenience stores while her parents were splurging money on unnecessary stuff.

And so, she became rebellious. The inner goodness in her wanted to strike out against her money-minded parents. Always hankering after money. They had never cared about her, about her feelings. They were only concerned with making more money and thought that by giving their precious daughter money, she would be very happy. How wrong they were. There were some things that money couldn’t give. She had learnt that from young. Being the only child, she had craved the attention and love that she had seen other parents showering on their children. How joyful they were. Look at the happiness and love that was showing up in their eyes.

Ironically, by that move, she had sunk herself deeper in sin. She got involved in bad company. At least, that’s how the tv commercials spin those lines. Don’t get involved in bad company. Keep clear. Stay free of drugs. Bah! All social propanganda. If society were that perfect, there wouldn’t have been such things hitting the streets.

By sixteen, she was completely wasted. She dropped out from her high school, and a good school at that. She was very intelligent in fact, and getting good grades weren’t exactly a hassle. It was just too much of a chore to go and take exams. And so she decided to skip them.

She hated how the society viewed her, as a childhood delinquent. Yes, she fitted exactly into the stereotype, but that doesn’t mean she is one. Stereotypes. They were everywhere. Prejudices. All of them one shitload of crap. Whenever she went out in the shopping mall, not that she frequented it anyway, people would steer clear of her path. At her block of apartments, neighbours would pull their precious offspring away, whispering dark comments about not coming close with bad company. What was she? Trash to them? She was a human being for God’s sake. She was moulded from God’s image! Give or take a few sins in the past, yes she was bad company. But no longer. She had changed! Cou;dn’t people see it?

Oh God, why did people always see others with such falseness? Did they not ever take time to discover the inner goodness in others? Do they only judge people by the surface? Why wouldn’t she be given another chance?

She had already proved herself. Proved her very worth. Wasn’t getting into university enough? Mind you, do social delinquents go to universities? But still, she wasn’t able to change people’s mindsets. Friggin’ bunch of muggers, they could go to hell for all she care.

By the looks of it, she was one big walking emotional baggage in the waiting area. And all she ever wanted was for someone to come and check her out. Check her out of the waiting area and bring her home. Happily ever after. But that was all a dream

Just her dreams.

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