The saccharine scent of peppermint floods into my nose as she brushes past me in the hallway.
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I move on to my class, urgently, and slide into my seat. Right next to the peppermint girl. It's my first class with her, and hopefully the last.
Her blonde hair bounces as she talks to me. Like it's floating in water, softly lapping at her neck. It reaches her shoulders, and probably is completely covered in a film of conditioners and products.
The brown eyes glazed over in thought, disconnected with the world. The color not the pretty chocolate people like to fantasize about, but more the brown of a disgusting sludge you avoid while walking down the city streets.
Teeth perfectly straight, her jawbone perfectly aligned. The airbrush tan had only been done waist up, as proven by her skinny, ugly ankles, pale white underneath the desk.
Teal blue shirt draped over her chest, like a dead animal's pelt. Her cropped pants pressed to an extent where even fabric feels pain. Only she could pull it off.
As she stands up to walk to the board, her feet sink into the short heels, worn to the bare bones. They almost creak in pain at every step.
As we walk out of class, I realize I have become so used to the scent, that I stopped smelling it. She, like anything beautiful, looks like a goddess from a distance, but as you get closer, the goddess is old and decayed. The only real problem I had with her, is that she didn't embrace being decayed, she covered the look with peppermint.
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