She takes a right. One foot in front of the other. Mechanical. Clockwork. A mixture of dust and microscopic debris slowly infests her lungs. Breathe in, breathe out, like clockwork.
She wanted the day to be over. She wanted the day to be over the minute she woke up Monday morning. Now, it was Friday, and the day hadn't ended yet. She takes a left, starts up a staircase, eyes on shoes and never up. She has been broken down. Her will has been taken and nothing is left except her shoes and her mechanical walking.
Top of the stairs. A right, and she's heading down the hallway, the same hallway she was walking down 24 hours ago, 48 hours ago, 72 hours ago, 96 hours ago. The fluorescent snakes hiss above her, flickering slightly as she walks below them. Daylight streams in a window. It is the sunniest day of the year, and it is raining outside. A drop rolls down the window, a shot of light and gravity. She feels like crying, but she can't. This is it. Opening night, and there are critics in the audience. She puts on her stage makeup, her smile, and finally looks up, the curtain finally opens. She waves at her co-stars as they wave at her, smiles when her name is called, grins ridiculously at the teachers who give her a "winning" smile.
Fake. Most of it is complete bullshit. A meaningless mask of happiness used to avoid actually expressing how she feels. She is uncomfortable with her own sadness, and thus, places it aside, hoping it will disappear, but ignoring the fact that it won't. She is a martyr. For her friends, she will always be there, supporting, encouraging, instilling hope where there is none, and making things happen where they once weren't. She gives good advice - too good, sometimes - and is logical, cool-headed, and compassionate.
But to herself? She is dead.
Her problems are inconsiderate, selfish, petty, and all together, trifling. No one should have to listen to them, even if they want to, because her problems are signs of her weaknesses, and weakness' counterpart is vulnerability. To be vulnerable is to get hurt. It's a vicious cycle that constantly repeats itself in her life. Better to be internally fucked up and outwardly fine. Never be vulnerable.
It is such a pity. She's got so many great people in her life that care about her and would listen to her problems, no matter how petty, but this changes nothing for her. She would rather see them happy and oblivious to her conundrums. This is her biggest fault. She would put herself aside for just about any cause, as long as it saves her from having to talk, having to let go and allow someone entrance to her real thoughts.
Make no mistake - she is honest to the ones she loves. She does not mislead them with hopes or advice that don't exist or won't work. Rather, she misleads herself. She believes it is actually better to be falsely "okay."
There has been one time, thus far in her life, that she could honestly say she was happy, outwardly enjoying every aspect of her life, and while a fraction of that feeling remains, most of it is dead. It is a lost crusade. She has put down her sword and picked up that of another, and when victorious, she will wave the flag of her king, her ruler, but never herself.
Thus, the girl is broken down.