Stepford Daughter

Life....such a fragile thing. Amazing really, its almost like glass. You can manipulate glass into diffrent shapes, textures or colours. Anyway you want it to be. And just like life, if you dont like it. Smash, its gone, shattered, obliverated, broken into tiny insignificant pieces. Life really is just a game.
One huge game if you sit back in your padded all leather reclining lazyboy, thinking about all the times you had ever been manipulated. And than it hits you like a blot of lightning sparking up your brain circuts on what an idiot you really are. You stare helplessly into space as you realize who your allies are and who your oppnets are. You wonder "do I have any friends or is it another figment of my imagination?" That maybe all your friends are all your enimies.
However I am diffrent I have adapted my thinking from typical cliches of 'keep your friends close, but your enimies closer'. Whoever said that must have shot up to much herion. I believe in keep your friends close, your enimies closer and the people you dont know closest. Whic begs the question, do you ever really know someone? If you say yes, well your probably not good at the game of manipulation. If you answer no, congrats, you pass, bring out the champange. You understand the cotext of the game. The reality is you raelly never know someone. Sure you may know their favorite movie or food, how they sleep, maybe a bit about their family. But do you know what is truly in their hreats? Do you know what they think about? Or what is their deepest, darkest secrets or desires? That is why you keep everyone close to you.
Of course these are just some of the rules of the game, manipulation, figuring out your enimie and allies and thinking outside the box. Still tere remains the last two rules. Probably the most important.
Ask yourself, have you ever been through an ordeal and you had to leave town and maybe you had to leave your dog with someone. So a friend says he'll look after the dog, but you hestitate because you dont completly trust him. That dout in your mind shows up clearly across your face which worries your friend and asks the question. "Don't you trust me?" You've been shot and your dead on the ground, bleeding from the wound of stupidity. Tinking why the hell didn't I lie? So you say yes because he is your 'friend' until something happens. Which iswhy its such a pity stupidity isnt painful.
`Finally the last rule of the game. Crushal to remember. Everyone always asks forgivness, we do it everyday. And everyone always says 'yes I forgive you'. Wrong, so wrong. Minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years go by abd you thyink about ow you never really forgave that person. Even after being forgiven the person that forgave you does something to get even. It is human nature, we all get even. Not like its completly a bad thing, it just means you are two steps ahead of everyone eles still in denial. Don't say you never get even because we all have said "now we are even".




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Eyes looke up from the leather bound book. The eyes belonged to a man of around 50 years of age, he had balding white hair that as horribly combed over, and wrinkles all over his forehead. He wore a suit with horiznotal lines makig him look bigger than he actually was, plus the dak navy blue made him look like a ghost, contrasting against his unusually plae skin. But his eyes looked blue and the other green, maybe it would have been easier to notice if he didnt wear the rectangular glasses.
I knew the doctor was waiting for me to talk, but I never please anyone, instead I did the hard thing and let him stare at me with the awlard silence looming in the air.
Thats when I wondered how he saw me because when I look in the mirror all I see is a 5'6" girl with elbow lenght white hair and emrald green eyes. 18 years old and already full of experiances. I wondered if the way we look was just a game of Mr. and Mrs. Potatoe Head mixing and matching new looks. But as I always say. Everything is a game.
I sat cross from the great Dr. Whinebong in his grand office that looked as big as my house. It was darkly lit with the lights reflecting off all his numorus degrees and awards, with an odd print of an Elder painting. We both sat in overl stuffed black leather chairs the rolles around.
"Do you know why you are here?" Came the sound from the Doctors direction.
I shurgged as if I didn't know when I actually just didn't care. I knew why I have to see a therapist, its no secret. I had become such a rebel that I had scared peopel. Not through my actions really but through my voice. People got intimidated by what I ahd to say, so the guidance counsiler gave my parents the advice to send me to a shrink 3 times a week. Like my parents are so perfect.
The Doctor scribbled something in his notebook, put down his pen and picked back up my book. I have to write things down because I refuse to talk to anyone about more personal things in my life. The Doctor says I am too closed in and that it is unhealthy. Despite my overly active mouth.
Dr. Whinebong read my entry over agin and gave me the same reaction as before. I know the doctor is getting extremly fustrated with me but how can anyone talk to a complete strnger that is so cold to his clients? I "overheard" him talking to my parents, aying that i am a very dificult person to raed and I dont give him anything he can use to give me some sort of diagnosis. Which makes me resent him more because he is making me out to be some sick person when I'm not. I ask everyone. What happened to the feedom of speech? I thought this was a free counrty?
"Do you really believe what you wrote Alex? Because I personally think it is very intresting your thoughts, it almost seems....rehersed I guess is the right word." Dr. Whinebong said trying too hard to get me mad enough to burst and let him diagnosis me for some fake illness so he gets paid. Instead I turned thetbles and played my all ime favorite game of manipulation and just sat there looking souless. I could see in his eyes the fire burning brightly now in anger. He has to much pride to finaly give up.
His face was half covered by my leather book so all I could see was his eyes looking over his specktacles.
One more minute left and my hour is over telling myself as I looked up at the clock and back at the doctor. Only to realize he was still looking at me.
"Live once, die twice." I said with a smile, he hates it when I use one of my theories on him. The words however felt like they bounced off the walls, echoing over agian.
Dr. Whinebong reveled the rest of his face in a look of hatred. With that he slamed the leather book tht was turned to my lastest entry shut.