Her ipod was set to shuffle, playing songs a good musician would appreciate.
She was dressed oddly for the occasion; fuchsia pink scarf, grey coloured cap, watermelon flavoured lip balm, with one thick line of eyeliner just above her lashes, a sequined black shirt with a denim jacket to hide most of it, black stockings to match with her nails and, fur boots. She smelt delicious, and yet unoriginal - You'd guess Dior.
No-one touches up just before jumping off a bridge, but she liked that she was an exception. It was what defined her in a sense.
She was the kind of girl who wanted to stand out. She hoped that people would remember her, maybe even write about her someday. Her life was all about working incredibly hard to be an inspiring figure - the unattainable one, the dreamer, the intellect, the broken soul that needed saving, the fighter - all in one. She wanted more than anything to be desirable, hell, ever since she was a little girl.
It was an old, faithful OCD, that knawed at her... every moment... of every day.
She sought after to be sought after. She needed to be needed.
She was haunted to be wanted.
Her fantasies blinded her to a simple, ironic truth - that perhaps, she need not have had to work so hard if someone were only to take out the time to understand the strange, exquisite world inside of her head.
She was either loved, or hated deeply. She did not believe in, and therefore constantly avoided the colour grey. Her language was attractive, decorated; calculating, manipulative. For the rare few who understood the real depth of her insecurities, she destroyed relations right away, for they knew too much.
God to the pope, was spotlight to this girl. She had faith in the crowds, because she knew that their approval was all that kept her going. She needed to feed them more and more;
Which is why she was here tonight. Brooklyn bridge, 1:34 am.
She was going to leave them devastated, baffled, talking about her for decades.
She was Jim Morrison. She was destructive. She was outrageous.
She was hollywood. She was way out there. She was just too much.
She was a broken hearted man at the bar. She was breaking all rules tonight.
A drop of warmth slid slowly down her cheek, betraying her, but only to herself.
She fiddled with her hair, her decisions.
She thought briefly of her family; It had been the only constant in her life, however much of a disaster it was. They took her the way she was. Would she be dying alone?
She was scared of what was happening, she needed to be told that it was all going to alright. She needed desperately for someone to make her that promise. Maybe her mother?
Rubbing her hands together, she stared up at the starry night sky, thinking fearfully once again, about how small she really was.
***
