D2 ☆ SAPHIRA STONE [DONE] resubmission

When I look into the mirror the first thing I see is a pair of ice blue eyes that sparkle with life. There is no hint of death or decay there is only joy and the twinkle of a star that is shooting across the sky. They are as open as the ocean and warm and inviting. Urging you to jump in and swim and dive down and grab the pearls, the secrets and the treasure that a buried underneath. I am an open book. Anyone can look at me and see when I am lying, when I am honest and truthful. I have never been bale to fool a living soul with hidden emotions. When you gaze underneath my eyes you miss my nose, I often do. I do not take the time to look at it, preferring my eyes to linger at my delicate pink lips, fine and bright. They are usually curved into a guarded, but warm smile, but there is always a warning written on my paper thin lips, daring, calling you to challenge me, to take a chance and see what happens. Hidden beneath my eyes is a warning, I am dangerous.

As my eyes turn downwards i find myself no longer staring into the mirror, but down at my body. I had the athletic grace of a dancer, long flowing limbs, that were thin and packed with muscles, they had the strength to hold me on my toes as I fluttered across the stage in a set of rhythmical, well practiced steps. They had the power to deal great blows to any person, they had the strength to carry me many leagues for hours if I wanted them to. Although I could not move fast I could move when I needed to. My strawberry blonde hair falls to my sides and flutters round my face like a curtain as i look at my chest, my arms, my body. My body was thing and well-muscled, but it seemed so small and unnatural in comparison to the rest of my long limbs. I never word dresses in fear of people seeing how oddly shaped I was. My torso and stomach were too short and when I wore dresses that made the thinnest and most perfect of girls shine I felt only envy.

My body would never do, like most girls I wanted the perfect body, but I had more flaws then I could count. Small freckles littered my face like a million stars, messily shoved her and there as if Ripred had not cared and had simply rushed, shoving them anywhere, not caring for the outcome. My nose was too small, button shaped and very irritating. My arms were well-muscled and my shoulders bulged. They ere too big and broad. The gymnastics I did made them muscular and my shoulders never seemed to want to stay in any clothes I wore, they were all too obvious and prominent, ridiculous. Everyone has flaws.

When I look into the night sky I see a thousand stars that sparkle brighter than the sun. In my eyes they are the true lights in the world, it is my belief that when a good person dies their soul joins those stars, each footprint each step and anything they do is in the stars. Each constellation is a picture and everyone sees those stars differently because each person they know has done them differently. One day I found my friends diary when I was over at her house and being the curious person that I am I guilty opened it and begun reading it. I flicked through a variety of pages, searching for something that caught my attention. And something did. My name. I sat there gaping at my name before I dared to allow myself to read it. She spoke of me as her best friend a girl she really loved. She spoke of me as honest, loyal and brave, and for a while a smile played across my face. She called me her best friend, someone she was grateful to have.

But of course all good things come to an end.

She than begun a story of the bad. The fact that I was naive, I saw myself as better than everyone. I stared at it for a moment letting the words sink in, she spoke of a time when I was dancing and I had said that I was better than her at dancing. I was better than her at dancing. Pouting I kept reading.

She called me hypocritical and lazy, which I was not. I am not lazy. I work I run I practice every day. That is not lazy that is hard work. And hypocritical? Nuh ahhh. No way in hell I am a very valued member of a society where I listen to everyone I do not contradict them or say something than do it. I am not one of those people. I am not. I am… well to be honest I am a bitch, I mean I try to be a bitch. You know like all those careers that are hell aggressive and mean? Yeah. I try to be like them because no one likes a sweet and kind career that says sorry after every time they have hit a person. No one likes those people, friendly people don’t get sponsors. Bitches do. I can be mean, I really can, but no one believes that I can, but I’ll keep trying.

"Saph..."

"Dad, please tell me, I really want to know where mummy is."

"... Okay..."

And so I found myself propped up on his knee as he began the story. He had never told me why my mother was gone and at the age of five I wanted to know where she was. Like any child I was curious, I needed that information for the little monster in me to be fed, I need his stories to build up my own. So that like all those fairy tales, there could be magic, there could be evil and heroes, I pictured my mother as a tall elegant lady, with the power to vanquish the evil from every and any land that she stood in. I wanted to see who my mother ways so that I could tell everyone who she was. In my small head I saw her has a hero, an amazing woman in those stories, like the ones with the damsel in distress and the prince charming who comes and saves her. Except I saw my mother as the hero, the lady who saved me and keep me alive, she was my hero. I listened with an ignorant disbelief as my daddy told me about mum.

I never realized how wrong I was. My dad told me a story of a lady who had left after I was born, she had run, fearing that her life would be over, to be filled, every waking hour with only me and more me. She believed everything in her life would have to do with me when I was born. She didn't want that. She loved partying and having fun. She hated children. My daddy told me that she tried to find her, but the Peacekeepers found her first. They found her dead. She had drunk too much, fallen over and hit her head. There my dreams of a hero, a heroic sacrifice a torturous death... all of it disappeared as quickly as the breeze can blow leaves across the ground.

I don't have any sisters or brothers, I am an only child. I do, however, have this nagging suspicion that my dad is gay. I know he will never admit it, but I am sure he is. I see the way he looks at other men and his distaste and trust for woman. Ever since mother ditched he has never looked at a woman the same. Some scars run deeper than others.