White Flag

One-Shot

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

The time passes, and her moments of happiness are fleeting, and she knows this. Another few moments have passed, and nothing has been accomplished.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

She can hear them. She can always hear them. The whispers in her own house. Maybe they're just in her imagination, or maybe they're really there. She doesn't know.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

But she can hear them. With each tick of the clock, she hears them. Those voices whispering. The walls remain strong, the floorboards are silent, the door never squeaks. The house is even quieter than a mouse. And yet, she hears them.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

She can always hear them. They never leave. With each second of time that fades, they get louder. They're hard to ignore.

Tick.

Tock.

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Tock.

She hates them. These voices. They've always been there, they always will be, and she knows this. She hates that. They're so cruel to her.

Tick.

Tock.

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The things they whisper... what they say... They're not even just cruel, they're relentlessly monstrous. They have no mercy on her. They hit her hard every day, and they never leave.

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They whisper of her parents... her mother... her father... They speak of how uncaring they are, how easily they're able to turn a blind eye to her. Her father buries himself in his work, and when he is home, he doesn't talk to her. Her mother buries herself under 'smoothies' and 'coffee.' She's even more uncaring than her father. She's always home, always there, and yet she's not. She doesn't exist. She's just a ghost. She floats about blindly, sleeps, and spends all her time in the kitchen or living room.

And then of course, there's her sister... Dear, beloved sister...

How she wished she would just disappear and never come back. She got all the attention. Whenever she was home, life actually wasn't entirely bad, and she despised that. Her father would take weeks off work, her mother would suddenly be so full of life, and the house would be brighter than ever. Delicious smells would drift from the kitchen, music would be playing from every room, and everyone would be smiling... except her. But nobody would notice. She wasn't completely blind, though. She knew her sister's deal wasn't all it was cracked up to be. While she was never given an ounce of attention, her sister was only awarded with so much of it for her accomplishments. It wasn't for her. It was just what she had done. She was treated as a trophy, not a person. She knew this; they both did. It was part of the reason she didn't completely apply herself in school. She kept herself in check in order to make sure her parents wouldn't ever start trying to turn her into a trophy.

As far as they knew, she was a lost cause.

She wasn't sure if she was happy about that or not.

Tick.

Tock.

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The world was so gray, so meaningless. The voices would remind her of that every day. They always would.

But then... there was him.

He with the flaxen hair like spun gold, eyes like deep green pools of jellybeans and gumdrops, and the face of a god. He was perfection.

And suddenly... the voices were gone.

Her world would melt like water to paint and her heart would be all she could hear, his smile all she could see, how soft his hair must be the only thing she could feel. Her senses would go crazy, and she would smile...

And then she'd realize he was looking at her funny and snap out of it. And the moment would be gone.

The voices would come back full force then, whispering of how he didn't love her back, how he felt nothing but hatred and disdain towards her, how he could never feel even a quarter of how intensely she felt for him. How she was ugly and flawed, how broken and unattractive she was, how he deserved someone just as wonderful as he was, someone just as perfect and beautiful...

It would be too much.

She would lash out, scream, throw a fit, and take out all her frustrations on him. How much it hurt that those voices were right. He would never love her. Not how she was, nor how she would ever be. She would never be worthy. And she loathed him for that. She loathed him for being so perfect, so much holier than herself, so much better and beautiful and flawless. She loathed him for how much he made her want to kiss him, and how much she couldn't live without him, and how much she just wanted to curl up with him and never leave his arms.

She hated him for making her love him.

And she hated herself even more for being too weak to leave him be, to need him so much.

He was her biggest weakness.

Tick.

Tock.

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But she was Helga G. Pataki, she wasn't SUPPOSED to be weak. She was strong, tough as nails, a scrapper. She would never give up and never be put down. People could try, but they would never win. She wouldn't let them. She rebelled against those voices, and she rebelled against her peers. She would scowl, hit, threaten, slap, kick, and disobey. She would never let anyone tell her what to do, even if she agreed with them. Everyone was a threat to her, and everyone was afraid of her. But they just... didn't understand. She wasn't like that because she was strong... the voices told her, and she knew they were right... She didn't do all those things because she was strong.

She did them because she was so weak.

People could so easily hurt her. One word, and she'd be crumbling. That was why she couldn't stand the idea of people finding out she loved him. He was her greatest weakness. She knew that if she was teased for that, if she ever found herself in the middle of everyone laughing at her... posture obnoxious... mouths wide open and guffawing... each trying to out-laugh the other... at how this disgusting, vain, self-centered thing could have the nerve to care so much for the most wonderful boy in their class, in their school, in the world... She would die. Especially if she looked over and saw his face... If she saw him there, his face in shock, looking embarrassed, pitiful of her and yet... repulsed... She would never be able to come outside again. The tears she'd been holding in nearly her whole life would come out like a waterfall, and they would never stop. They would be even more relentless than the voices.

Oh, the voices... what fun they would have with that scenario.

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But no, though she would admit she was weak, at the same time she knew that she was very strong. She'd been beaten down for her entire life. She'd dealt with a blowhard father, an alcoholic mother, a perfect sister, and an aching, throbbing love. She'd watched him crush on everyone but her, watched as her sister would come home with A+ after A+, listened to her father call her Olga again and again, and her mother look past her as if she was a window. Most would have broken a long time ago...

But she hadn't.

She knew she was strong, despite everything. She was bruised and scarred, but alive. She would always be alive. She would never die. Her spirit was too strong. Even the voices knew that. They could jump and jump and jump on her for as long and as hard as they wanted, but she would never break.

She was Helga G. Pataki. Ruler of the fourth grade. Iron-fisted bully that never took no for an answer.

So yes, she was weak at times; the voices would get her down; she would be depressed, her world would be gray, she would sometimes think of just giving up. But she never would. She wouldn't let herself. She was stronger than that. The only thing that would ever even come close to breaking her would be him, but along with her intense doting adoration, she hated him. She was rebellious even towards him. He wouldn't get her down either. No, that would be just what he wanted, wouldn't it? She wouldn't let him, not now, not ever. He would be able to get her down for months, years, maybe even her whole life, but he would never make her give up. Sometimes he would even be what was keeping her going some days; he was her hope. He was an angel and a devil, and he didn't even know it. But either way, whichever he chose to be each day, he wouldn't break her. Never. Even if he rejected her, she would deal and move on. She would.

The voices would always make that white flag visible. It would always be in her mindsight, dusty and worn from laying there so many years, alone but never neglected. But she would never touch it. She promised herself that much.

No, it didn't matter. None of it did. Not Bob, not Miriam, not Olga, not her classmates, not even him.

The only flag she would ever be waving, would be her bright pink bow.

Tock.

Tick.

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A/N: To put an end to the "Helga suicide" craze. :P Also, last fanfiction for a little while. Just letting you guys know no updates for a while. Hope you enjoyed!

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