This story is from the perspectives of Charlotte and Fiona, two girls who have lived totally different lives their whole life. The story takes place in a town that is completely normal. Or is it?
Houses were lined up perfectly straight down Topia Way. Each house was a carbon copy of the next. Neatly trimmed lawn, straight hedges, and clean scrubbed bricks. The road and driveways were smooth and unmarked. Even the gutters had an unnatural whiteness. The whole town was like this. Completely normal. And completely wrong.
Chapter One: Arrival (Fiona)Edit
"This town is so perfect!" I said in disgust, as she examined her new room. It was a soft pink, with lacy curtains and a matching bedspread with rosebuds. I ran my hand over the smooth cherry wood. It was awful. No individuality, no pop of color. "This is the room of a pretty ballerina." I complained to my mom.
"I didn't decorate it. But it looks so pretty! Why would you want to change it?" Meet Libby, my mom. She's the type of person that likes Italian food, opera and violins, and fine china. I'm Fiona. I like anything greasy, rock and rap, and skateboards. So you see how we clash.
We moved here just yesterday, because my mom needed a better job. She always complained about the messy and dirty building, rude bosses, and sleezy management. She worked really hard at a questionable diner, but made only a little per hour.
She found this GREAT, steady job here in PerfectVille (aka Perennial. Who names a town after a flower? Lame.) So I'm stuck here. New York City, my hometown, is a million miles away, along with with my friends.
"I need to go to the hardware store." I announced. I had a vision. Black walls, with red and white slashes. I'm the do it yourself kind of girl, plus I love art. My mom at least lets me have some freedom, so I rode my bike over to Chuck's Hardware. Real original. I browse the paint, noticing a surplus of light pastels. Yuck. I buy black, red, and white from an overly cheery and fat buisnessman.
When I get home, my mom is unpacking. I notice a picture on the counter. It's of mom and dad. And me. We all looked so happy. But I had to forget the past. I had to move on. The room was as pink as ever, and mom had sprayed some sort of floral spray. I inhale sharply, and cough from the fru-fru-ness. I get to work on the walls.