Hi! I am Allie. I wanna tell ya'll pretty people my real story here and then hide it under my bed. Well preserving it for the future generations, hopefully.
When I was five, mommy and daddy had a big. Khchmm. Argument. - Would you like naming her Teophillie, Frederick? - No, Norma. I most certainly wouldn't.
Daddy turned his back and slowly walked away. They always seemed like strangers. If that's what people call love- I don't like it.- Why is everyone yapping about it so loud. - I asked my mommy once.-What is love, ma? How does it... Feel? - It fades. - she whispered with a razor sharp look in her icy blue eyes. That moment, I painfully realised, how the topic of BOYS. Is off the dinner plate forever.
So. Riiight. Moving on, when I was like ten years old, I would proudly introduce myself everywhere as Allie,short and sweet. My daddy picked it it out after. Well, keeping me nameless for five years. Before that. I would just say HI to all the new people. It was a secret I NEVER WANTED ANYONE to ever uncover, though.
My parents got divorced. I was extremely devastated. Would go to school, holding my head down, wet tear marks all over the collar of my sky blue silk blouse everyday. Whenever we'd read something sad, like, say, Charles Dickens, for instance, I would subconsciously burst into tears again, so all the kids at school were eventually making fun of me.
I was always on the bigger side. Carried a 600ml jar of Nutella and a medium sized loaf of bread with me everywhere. I love sweet things, still.
My favorite activities to do as a kid was astrology and studying the dazzling mysterious lives of the miraculous people in Hollywood. I'd spend hours watching movies, endless interviews on youtube, would buy every magazine that IS on the market. As an eighteen year old I knew everything about everyone out there, with more than enough material to open an actual Museum of Pulp Magazines. In the nearby future, of course.
Whenever I'd look at the beautiful perfect people of THERE. The shiny pearled smiles, oh holy dresses and colorful cars. I would feel motivated. To do a little more. Push a step further. It IS possible. Even as an overweight eighteen year old highschool graduate from Holland.
While in highschool, every girl I knew would only be interested in nicely dressed young boys, preferably with a dash of love for art and a THING for bussines. Preferably. A daddy built bussiness at hand.
Sadly for all of those well dressed future club and hotel owners, they have all hated me a little too much. Shiny white smiles and kind laughter everywhere else, though at school, few times a week, in a restroom or the middle of a coridor, they would tuck in the chin and heads held high quietly spit a Freak out. Like tiny dogs barking, the Freak would sound. I was unfortunate enough to own a giant Crab shaped beauty mark on my cheek. It was quite problematic until I had it removed as a successful thirty something bussiness woman. Not a single day as a seventeen year old student, would pass without a few yoghurt strokes in my hair. Suzy Naves, my classmate, said QUOTE- it is healthy. For your hair. Yoghurt is healthy.
I cracked somewhere about that time. Started litterally stalking them. Gotta eat them bigger fishes- I told myself. So I would spend hours and hours silently snapping photos, recording conversations, observing them MATE like animals they all were at their disgusting bars dances. Twenty five and I knew everything about everyone in my little town. Called it Allies secret book of mysteries. I had six hundred albums and notebooks hidden under my bed. Then I started writing novels. I would leave little clues about names and the horrible things they all did. My brand was insanely successful. Even got myself an honorable mention in Forbes, somewhere at the bottom of the list of THE most influential ladies from somewhere for some reason this year. I must confess here, that everything I ever published, was like, seventy percent pure overblown spice fiction. But many of them got divorced or... Financially unhappy? . Oooh how many. So I changed my name to Karla, moved USA, opened my lovely little pastel colored Museum of Pulp Fiction Magazines. Bought myself an entire shoe factory. Started making boots. They looked exactly like the fancy niche ones my happily married sweet ex classmate Andrea was making. But I chose round clutches instead of squares. Put some random canva stripes on. And vualia. A writer, bussiness owner, respectable independent serious woman named Karla I am. Today.
Decided to go a little further and even as this knockout I see in the mirror every morning, my secret to that never ending fuel for all the media dazzle. is dying a virgin.
Greta Oldenburg
Kaunas, Šiauliai.