Britney

“You’re not Britney!”
“No, my name is Cassandra. I work for the same magazine as Britney and I came to tell you to stay away from her. That girl is in enough trouble now and she certainly doesn’t need you to give her any more.”
I stared at this new girl with significant interest. She was tall, dyed her hair and looked as though she ate about one meal every two months. Yep she definitely worked with Britney. New Ideal fashion magazine where Britney worked was famous for its extremely thin models. This was the problem with being a reporter. You had to deal with some weird and messed up people.
I had asked Britney to meet me here because I thought she could help me and I could help her. But according to this new girl, I was doing neither of the above. I opened my mouth to tell this intruder to go away, but somehow I felt that there would be better routes to getting what I wanted.
“Alright. What happens if I do leave her alone? If I never see her again?”
“Well Miss uh…”
“Pearce. Miss Angela Pearce.”
“Well Miss Pearce if you never see her again she will probably live a lot longer and you will probably keep all of your limbs.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No, Miss Pearce. Threatening isn’t my job. I’m just relaying a message.”
“A message? From who?”
But Cassandra had already disappeared out the restaurant door.

Chaos

The chaos began from a small place inside. My heart sped up and liquorice- black spots appeared around the corners of my vision. My knees got weak and the ground came up to give me a kiss. The world went black for a moment. When colors came back to my eyes, I couldn’t manage to lift my head. When I finally pulled away, cherry blood streamed down my face. There was no pain. I was beyond feeling. The sugary white of my fingers was smeared from where I had touched my face. My strawberry- red nails were broken and jagged. I licked my lips. One was split. I tasted blood: it seemed to taste sour. The prized sweetness of my lips was gone. I was nothing. My perfectly constructed shape had become marred and my hair, which had been the rich color of caramel had tangled and bits of it had fallen off. I couldn’t move. My eyes traveled around the store. No body in sight. How long would it take for them to find me? How long must I lie here? The familiar smell of baking sugar reached my nose. I tried to wiggle my toes. Nothing. I couldn’t even feel my toes. Slowly. I turned to look at the disaster that had once been my pretty legs. They lay two feet from my body, broken off in my fall from the candy store counter where I had been on display.