Runaway.
Getting There
Kirsten's P.O.V.
I waited and waited for the flight to end, but when I found out there was still five hours left, I started to reminisce... Most people would think that I have a good life, my dad is good, he just... Expects a lot, and he is impossible to please. Even when I did an excellent job, it was always, 'okay'. not a 'good job' or a 'Excellent'. I was never good enough. Never. My dad has remarried, and he has known her since I was 13. I liked her, but she had such high standards... She always compared me to her real daughter. Who happened to be perfect. I had stuff, I wasn't underprivileged, I had a nice house. A decent school, I played sports ,and the guitar. I was everything that fit the picture for perfect little small town girl. I even got good grades. Nobody else knew why I was throwing everything away. Why I was running away. But I didn't consider it running away. I thought of it as running towards something better.
My mind started to return to the present. I was thinking about how, maybe I could make it big, with my guitar. I had a nice guitar. The pickguard on it was black and sparkly. The body is a lighter to darker tortoiseshell. I had a nice amp. I hoped those stupid shippers didn't damage it. That was the only thing I didn't hate about myself, besides my clothes. I hated my almost wavy almost not, dirty blonde hair. I hated my face. Even though I knew I wasn't ugly, I didn't think I was pretty. I guess everybody else did though. I hated that I had no butt whatsoever. My chest was decent, 34C. It wasn't to much to complain about. Still, any kind of ass would be better that my barely there one. It barely filled out my 3/4 long jeans. Mentioning size long, I hated my legs. They were practically my whole body. I did like that I was fairly thin. Today I wore a nice flowy peach vest top, with a pink tank top under it. I had on well fitting Silver brand skinny jeans, with some comfy neutral colored slip ons. We had two and a half hours left until we landed, so I turned on a movie.
Our wheels were almost hitting the runway when I thought, 'Is it legal to live in storage units?' Then suddenly we hit and the breaks applied. We were here. I was finally in London.
I waited and waited for the flight to end, but when I found out there was still five hours left, I started to reminisce... Most people would think that I have a good life, my dad is good, he just... Expects a lot, and he is impossible to please. Even when I did an excellent job, it was always, 'okay'. not a 'good job' or a 'Excellent'. I was never good enough. Never. My dad has remarried, and he has known her since I was 13. I liked her, but she had such high standards... She always compared me to her real daughter. Who happened to be perfect. I had stuff, I wasn't underprivileged, I had a nice house. A decent school, I played sports ,and the guitar. I was everything that fit the picture for perfect little small town girl. I even got good grades. Nobody else knew why I was throwing everything away. Why I was running away. But I didn't consider it running away. I thought of it as running towards something better.
My mind started to return to the present. I was thinking about how, maybe I could make it big, with my guitar. I had a nice guitar. The pickguard on it was black and sparkly. The body is a lighter to darker tortoiseshell. I had a nice amp. I hoped those stupid shippers didn't damage it. That was the only thing I didn't hate about myself, besides my clothes. I hated my almost wavy almost not, dirty blonde hair. I hated my face. Even though I knew I wasn't ugly, I didn't think I was pretty. I guess everybody else did though. I hated that I had no butt whatsoever. My chest was decent, 34C. It wasn't to much to complain about. Still, any kind of ass would be better that my barely there one. It barely filled out my 3/4 long jeans. Mentioning size long, I hated my legs. They were practically my whole body. I did like that I was fairly thin. Today I wore a nice flowy peach vest top, with a pink tank top under it. I had on well fitting Silver brand skinny jeans, with some comfy neutral colored slip ons. We had two and a half hours left until we landed, so I turned on a movie.
Our wheels were almost hitting the runway when I thought, 'Is it legal to live in storage units?' Then suddenly we hit and the breaks applied. We were here. I was finally in London.
Thanks:) I'm really glad:) I'm literally gonna update momentarily
9/21/13