Broken love

For the salvage contest.

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Long curly ginger locks. Pale, thin oval face. Freckles coat my skin. That's me.

My long lashes don't suit black mascara. You wouldn't believe how hard it is to find good quality brown mascara. A big pain I tell you. I'm applying it now. I have to go shopping for clothes. I'm twenty, I don't have a job, I don't need a job. Shopping is just about the only thing I know how to do. Not to say I'm stupid, I went through school; private school. I live on my own just down the street from my parents. It's a long street...

I'm driving down it right now. To go to shopping, not to my parent's house. I hardly ever see them because they are so fussy and always want to know exactly what I have been doing. They expect something amazing, something that is productive. I am their only child, they had high hopes. I think they are slowly realising that whenever I say "I did nothing." I mean just that. They always seemed to think I was joking and hiding something interesting. When you hear the same words for two years, even my parents can understand that I'm telling the truth.

 

Town is quite big. Not as big as some of the giant 'malls' in America, I'd love to go shopping in them. No, they're more like cities of shops. Here you can't even call it a village. Maybe half of a village.

I pull into the parking lot. Its one clean move. I'm good at parking too. Making lists of the shops I need to visit; speed walking and reading while speed walking are also talents of mine. Not to mention the multitasking that I am performing now as I stride towards MAC.

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