The screw up is dead

They lead her to a dark cove, blind folded, standing above the murky water. All they did was sit there and let her taste the salty air, savoring the last muggy moments. Dressed in black, she was her own funeral. With her hands bound behind her back with rope and her mouth sewn shut, she didn't move or say a word, just stared at the void she could see, waiting, waiting.

A click.

The girls hair was curly, wavy, wonderfully silhouetting her face. It was long and danced in the minimal wind. It was alive, and seemed to be the only part of her that was left.

Cold metal on her temple.

"The fuck up must die!" screamed a man, throwing a torch onto the oil barren ocean. It lit a flame. The girl felt the flames of hell under her chin. "The fuck up must leave!" The gun shook, she heard the metal in her ear, grinding, she felt, she didn't say a word. "A WORTHLESS Wretch!"

The trigger was pulled-- she fell into the cove, burning.




I kind of find myself lost. My intentions are good but everything I do is wrong. Little mistakes make her mad.

"Hey! you're home early, why?"
"Why do you care?"
"Oh, I was just wondering."
"Well, it's none of your business."

She's been so snarky, and so mean. She's been cold and heartless. She cares more about Kayla than me. I'm nothing but a fuck up in her eyes.




"The fuck up is dead!" they rejoiced. "She's gone from this town! Gone from the world! The fuck up is dead!"

And the girl, with a beautiful wavy hair tried to scream, but she could not, she was bound, sinking. screaming. Her cries were muffled by the water and sewn lips. She could feel the boiling water fill her lungs. The cover slipped off her eyes. Red and rage was all she could see. There was no more up and down, there was no more walls, they all collapsed.

But it was weird, her life never flashed before her eyes.

She just settled down at the bottom of the cove, a pair of lovely bones with good intentions.

A broken heart from their bad ones.

A mourning soul looking to help.

The fuck up was dead.