FICTION.

Lara went out alone that night. She needed to get away and that was the only plan she could come out with. She needed to breathe. She needed air, space and loneliness.
She didn’t sit in front of the mirror in her room for hours like she usually does. She didn’t try a thousand outfits.
Her skin was looking great. No pimples this time, so she just focused on covering the bags under the eyes a bit, and she finished the look with some mascara and her trademark burgundy lipstick. She kept on thinking about a way to bring some dimension to the place this character she had thoroughly created actually had in this world. The outfits, the parties and the “fun” she was supposed to be having but she had never had. She felt an urge, an urge to leave, so she hurried up her thoughts into a hollow conclusion.
Taking the bus was by far extremely much more depressing than it could possibly be under normal circumstances. She felt vacant and crestfallen while waiting for it. Another woman was sitting in the stop, and she looked just as empty and dejected as her very own self.
She climbed inside the bus, and sat down in the last row of seats. She felt stupid. She felt dramatic, like if she was shamelessly acting out a fictional situation. She looked through the window and strived to look normal. The lights passed by giving away glimpses of abstract still shapes and dull puzzling characters circling the night out there.
She started thinking about her cooking skills, or the lack of them, and about the subways in New York. She remembered a scene from a movie she had seen alone not long ago, and she burst into tears.
About half and hour after her arrival, she could already easily identify herself as the most pathetic and humiliated person in the whole history of humanity.
She went back home walking. She would not take that bus again for a while.
On the way, she finally decided to let her mind focus on what was really troubling her.
She also thought about an old friend she hadn’t seen in ages, about this blog she casually run into a few weeks ago, about the real meaning of happiness and about the possibility of becoming a waitress in Manhattan.
She had always wanted to run away to the States, even though her best friend Clow, was always telling her how much he hated America and for how many good reasons he did.
Clow was such a funny guy. He was into so much trouble himself as well.

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Bye, I’m off to prepare a little surprise.