In a world of those few and far between in similarities, there are those who are bound to stand out like a daisy in a field of dandelions. At the top of her class, with wits of steel and a heart of gold, sits a girl who's pristine and clean. With silky black hair that swings perfectly just below her shoulders and bright blue eyes that reminds everyone of the ocean waves on a sunny summer day. And a complexion of porcelain that glows without fail, with not a single blemish in sight. Most have only ever caught a glimpse of her making her way through the school halls. Her strides were short and quick with a breeze of air that brushed past everything in her way, sharp and small movements created with precision without fail every time. She always made sure to be in her seat exactly two minutes before the bell, no more and no less than that. She is a taste of heaven itself, the salvation that people seek in a world filled with darkness like a single cataclysmic void. But there are things about her, horrid things, that no one on the outside knows. She dreads the morning sun as it glosses over her windows, shining through and disturbing her slumbered self. Dragging her feet through the creaky hollow halls of her home, she’s stopped by the air flowing towards her, wreaking of rum, soju, and wine. A smell she has grown all too familiar with over the last few years. Searching for and cleaning up any stray bottles left behind. Broken Soju bottles and empty wine glasses are what fill the kitchen floor as she approaches her resting father propped up at the kitchen table with only his body weight holding him to his chair. Carefully and quietly, she cleans up the bottles and covers him with a blanket. Her custom morning ritual has been set in stone since the passing of her late mother seven years ago. She makes her way back to her room and sets out her school's cheesy attire. A simple black pleated skirt that falls just barely two inches below the knees, a solid white blouse with her school's logo embroidered on the left corner just below the frilled collar, and a small navy blue tie pre-tied for the sake of time. She sits at a rundown vanity with a mirror that only reflects back her deepest darkest insecurities. Her hair was darker than the midnight sky and wilder than the raging ocean, full of knots and curling in every direction. Blemishes of different sizes and colors fill her skin and the ocean eyes everyone loves overflowing with waves of emotion as tears stream down her face. Not once have I ever thought she was beautiful. The girl in the mirror is the one I will never allow anyone to see. She is scarred and damaged, flawed beyond belief. She is everything that I hate because she is my reflection. So I will dowse myself in makeup and cover my fickle skin, I will flatten my lion's mane to a silky soft black sea of hair and I will wipe my tears as I achieve the “elegant and unflawed” look I am known for. I will rush to class to maintain my perfect attendance and I will study until the evening autumn sky fades into the horizon drenching the world at nightfall to keep my perfect grades. For I am known as, little miss perfect.