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Mimi
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Pepper Clarke, female no. 23, START

She tried to ignore the fear, tried to will herself back to Alderbrook’s sleepy streets and unlocked doors, back to normalcy. There were times growing up where she’d cursed the so-called hovel of an apartment complex, disdain for the small rooms and the creaky floors and the ever present smell of musk biting at her very core, but now, more than ever, there was no place she’d rather be. She wanted to wake up in her own bed, greeted to the morning by Elphaba’s coy smile and the intoxicating smell of bacon dancing through her nostrils.

But Pepper Clarke wasn’t home, nor would she be home come tomorrow morning or the morning after, if it even came. Her bed would remain empty, her poster of Wicked’s Elphaba nary a soul to greet. Instead, Pepper found herself in some god-forsaken town, surrounded by a god-forsaken desert that she assumed was full of some sort of god-forsaken creatures. She was certain that dreams came to this place to die, it’d make sense for her to be here if that were the case.

Frequently, Pepper considered herself foil to Tracy Turnblad, the equally ‘plump’ heroine of Hairspray—Pepper’s absolute favorite movie and musical. To Tracy’s success, confidence, and popularity, Pepper had the opposite. Instead of Corny Collin’s once-in-a-lifetime opportunities, Pepper was surrounding by the grim expanse of the deserted town, feverishly trying to bat her assigned daypack off the arm of a dilapidated lantern post with a stick as she fought back the tears threatening to surface.

It was useless.

Defeated, Pepper let the stick collapse to the dusty ground before collapsing to her own knees, relishing the dull burn of the blistering sun. It was useless, she didn’t know why she was even trying. Girls like her didn’t make it, in real life nor in whatever twisted game the man on the train was talking about. He’d said that they were supposed to kill each other, supposed to extinguish each other’s flames. Pepper couldn’t do that and she knew it. Nobody else would either, right? She was sure they wouldn’t.

Or at least that’s what she told herself, although every so often a warm breeze would make the decrepit town erupt in a harmony of clatter. And each time, Pepper’s heart would sink, expecting to turn around and be face to face with the barrel of a classmates gun. And it’d be over. No more Pepper. Gone just like that and nobody would even care, except maybe Maw-Maw.

Pepper buried her face in her hands, partially an escape from the unforgiving sun and partially as an escape from reality. It works when you’re a little kid, so why not now? If you can’t see them, they can’t see you, that’s how it works.
Edited by Mimi, Dec 15 2011, 04:33 AM.

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I Can Hear the Bells · The Streets
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