Just a few bits from stories I might write— Tell me if they’re okay. I might put some on here in the future? ?

published on January 11, 20186 reads 6 readers 0 not completed

(1) Nothing like Perfect

As the first streaks of dawn bleed into the sky, a young girl at the age of four finds herself skipping down the worn asphalt of Main Street, following after an old taffy wrapper, with the corners torn and feathered.  Her pigtails, delicately woven into tight braids bounced with every footfall. She had pale skin and freckles dotting the apples of her cheeks and nose, and she was cladded in a blue and white collared dress. The girl, none other than the cheerful and lively Londyn Harmon. The candy wrapper tumbles along the road, drifting on the currents of the light autumn breeze. Londyn continues to dash after the thin paper sheet, until she runs out of breath and sits on the cold concrete curb. There she waits in silence, patiently, until the ground is shaken and her ears perceive the low rumbling of a faraway parade.
First it is the band, a large group of strange people, with shiny gold horns and comically oversized drums. Their clothes all seem to match, red and black, with cylindrical hats and large decorative feathers. Aside from one member at the very front, who wore all white and carried a sort of staff. Londyn notices that the other people around her are all clapping in time with the low thump of the bass drum, so she claps too.
They all march into the distance, and trailing behind them is the cheer squad, sitting on a float. The cheerleaders reach into their buckets and toss handfuls of candies into the air. Children scramble to gather the candy, babbling and waving at the pretty cheerleaders with short skirts and big hairbows.
And then is a float with the football team. Highschool jocks wearing numbered jerseys and waving, also chucking candies to the crowds. Teenage girls in the crowd swoon and wave to the boys, who stick their tongues out and smile in reply. Some of the football players laugh and holler, and some slap each other playfully, and  then there are the ones who just sit there in silence.
Then comes a squad of girls in sparkly shirts and frilly skirts, twirling aluminium rods between their fingers and around their wrists, and sometimes tossing the rods up in the air and catching them. They wore lip gloss, and their hair was all tied up in curly ponytails; Londyn thought they were like a combination of the cheer squad and the staff-man at the front of the parade, in a way. There were girls of every age, from two years old, to probably high schoolers. When that group disappeared, Londyn’s attention was drawn to a float with girls in colourful dresses. And one boy, who was holding hands with one of the girls.
A sash across her chest reads ‘HOMECOMING QUEEN’. Both her and the boy wore all white, and had dirty blonde hair, and both had sparkly silver crowns on top of their tawny locks. Everyone clapped and cheered as they waved to the crowds. Londyn gazed up at the Homecoming Queen, amazement sparkling in her bright sapphire eyes. She imagined being perched atop that float, the centre of attention. Everyone would be waving at her. A princess, she would be. Perfect.
And that is exactly what she wanted to be. Perfect.
She wanted to be in the parade, wearing that dress, and that sash.
And she would have a handsome King to accompany her.
Bringing smiles to people’s faces with her radiance and beauty.
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