Young Writers Society

Okay, this is pretty out there, not like anything I've ever tried before. It could suck, but it might have something, I'm not sure. Just tell me what you think. It's also a sort of beginning, or a first chapter, and it might not make very much sense yet, but I know pretty much exactly where I'm going with it.

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"Okay, I can't handle it. I really, really can't. I give up."

Maggie stretches backwards across her apple-green-and-white-plaid bedspread, freckled arms above her head. Kacie, her best friend, sighs and hesitantly screws the top back on to the nail polish she's using.

"Maggie..." she starts. A moment or two of silence passes while Kacie rubs her forehead with her palm in distress. "Maggie... it really isn't that bad. It isn't. It just seems like it now, but someday we'll look back on this and laugh, okay?"

"Here's the thing, Kace, it IS a big deal. We're NOT gonna look back on this and laugh. It's not like it's gonna go away on it's own. It's crazy, unreal, I can't believe-" But by this time she's crying too hard to continue.

Kacie scoots over. She puts an arm around Maggie's wide shoulders. She doesn't know what to say and instead just holds her there, the kind of thing that's only comforting when someone you love does it. Kacie's cellphone rings, and Maggie knows who it is. "I'll be in the bathroom, okay?"

"Sure. It's gonna-" But the door's already shut.

Maggie walks across the familiar hallway, enjoying the clicking noise her heels make against the hardwood floors. She stays focused on this as she enters the bathroom, and shuts her eyes, trying to block out the painful memories the bathroom invokes in her. When she opens them again, she is staring at her reflection in the mirror. Maggie takes in her small, sea-green eyes, long lashes, full lips, and shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair, surveying each part closely. Her favorite feature, she decides, is her eyes, usually. She doesn't like how pathetic and watery they look after she's been crying; it makes her feel weak and vulnerable. Maggie turns the lock on the door, sealing it closed. Amy laughs. "I knew you stay away for long. You can't resist me."

Maggie ignores her pointedly. She opens the medicine cabinet and takes out her pills. "You're not real, you know," she says boldly, putting one on her tongue. She swallows it dry. "Then how can you hear me?" Amy asks, amused. Maggie doesn't answer. "Exactly," says Amy. "It's a good thing, really, it means you're not crazy." Maggie sits on the edge of her bathtub. "I'm-" she begins to tell Amy.

"I know," Amy interrupts. "I know everything." Something about her cruel, slippery voice makes Maggie get up and leave the bathroom. "We'll talk later," calls Amy in a sing-song voice, as the door slams behind Maggie.

"Oh my god, Maggie, I thought you'd stopped," groans Kacie. "Stopped what?" she asks, genuinely puzzled. "Stopped... with your face..." Kacie replies weakly. Maggie's heart rate quickens, and she glances into the mirror to her left, hanging on the wall. Her face is scratched up, not deep enough to leave a scar, but definitely enough that she should be hurt. It starts to sting. She runs a finger across her cheek. "I think you should get some rest, Mags," suggests Kacie tentatively. "You've been through a lot of shit this week."

"You're right. Bye, Kacie," Maggie says tonelessly, still staring at her raw face in the mirror. An hour later, she hasn't moved.