HILSA'S POINT OF VIEW

I love my apartment. I think to myself as I inhale softly, my eyes opens to do another quick sweep of the room.

It's homey, cozy and mine. And when I say mine, I mean, everything in here is my design and no, I'm not an interior designer, just someone that appreciate art and it's rules.

Sipping my tree tea, Hilsa's special I call it, I walk around my living room, taking a moment to admire my space. It's everything I dream of and more. The walls are covered in beige paint, the black and white wildlife wallpaper covers the north side of my home where my television is, facing the three-seater leather sofa. Everything else is white, from the accented chairs to the couches, the coffee stool, leopard print rug covering the thick wooden dark floor, even the lamps are white.

What can I say I love white.

"Oh dear," whispering when my eyes falls on the coffee table in between the accented chairs, where a vase of dead peonies are.

It's not my fault that the flower is dead. My doorman keeps giving them to me even after I've told him the first time that I hate flowers. Although I don't mind walking past him with the dead flowers in my hands. I love the pained look on his face whenever he sees them but that doesn't stop him from giving me another.

Talk about never giving up.

"The two headed snake..." That catches my attention, making me look away from the dead flowers to the large TV screen. National Geographic Wild is on and I'll say, I have never heard anything about a two headed snake before.

I should probably go and take a shower but I need to know more about the snake.

Each head has its own brain, and each brain can control the shared body. As a result, these animals have unusual movements as both heads try to control the body and go in their own direction. One snake head will sometimes attack the other as they fight over food.

"Sounds like every other relationship I know." I grab the remote from the center table and turn the television off before heading inside my room, walking past the abstract paintings hanged on the walls to my room.

Stripping off my hello kitty pajamas, top before the bottom, I toss them inside my laundry basket. My eyes catches my reflections in the mirror. My blond hair with dark streaks is messy, my face looks worse than it should and the dark circles and bags around my eyes is a reminder of not trying to go to bed early yesterday, instead I spend the entire night watching Natgeo wild and learning about Polar bears.

What can I say? Polar bears are cute creatures.

On second thoughts, I think I'm going to have a bath instead of a shower.

I turn the water on and pour a capful of bubble bath in its stream, packing my hair in a bun to prevent it from getting wet. I may have time to take a bath but not blow-dry my hair. Too stressful.

Stepping into the bathtub, on leg after the other, I slid down until my head is resting on the bath pillow and close my eyes.

Twenty minutes later, I wrap myself in a towel and glance at the mirror to see if my face is better now. It is but deep down I know no matter how hard I scrub my face, I am still the same person, Hilsa Fries. There's no hiding who I am.

I return to my room and look through my closet for today's outfit. Finding what to wear is never a problem since I wear basically the same thing every day when I go school. Today I pick white t-shirt, ripped faded blue jeans, black jacket and a pair of white sneakers.

Brushing my hair before packing it and braiding the ponytail. I grab my backpack from the floor where I left it yesterday and leave the room but I stop right before I can open the door. On the wall next to the door is a newspaper, one I glued on the wall over a year ago, the headlines reads 'No survival in the tragic plane crash. Senator Jacob Fries and family were part of the victims'.

My eyes closes as memories of the past resurface, crashing into one another.

Oh fuck you, you hear me, fuck you! If only there was a way to make you disappear forever.

Now, now Hilsa darling, show me you can be my good little girl.

It is all her fault.

She caused it.

Why is she looking at me like that? Do you have something to say to me freak?

Fuck you, Hilsa. Fuck you!

Why can't you just be like other kids? Why can't you just be normal?

I hate you, Hilsa. I wish you'd never been born.

"Hmm..." I open my eyes and rub my hands together, squeezing my fingers in every turn. "I will not be controlled by my past. I will not be controlled by my emotion. I am strong. I am strong. I am strong."

I wait for the words to sink in before releasing my hands. Taking a deep breath, I shake my head and open the door.

Unplugging my phone on my way out, I connect it to my AirPods and scroll through my playlist before finding the perfect song that suits my mood. '1-800-273-8255' by Logic, Alessia Cara and Khalid. It's a reminder that I don't have to die or thinking about killing myself, I have to live even if it's fucking hard.

I leave my apartment with the dead flowers in my hand. The ride down the elevator is fast, and as usual I walk down the lobby, ignoring everyone on the way. I open the door and drop the flowers at his feet before I begin my trekking journey to school.

My apartment is a fifteen minutes walk to school and I quite enjoy it. Although the walk from the school gate to my faculty is long as fuck but I don't mind since it's what I do every weekdays.

Tree teas are good for my immune system but I can't survive without coffee. I pass the Art Faculty and enter Flops, the only cafe around here that sells coffee the way I like it. I frequent the place a lot.

The bell jingles softly as I open the door, the sense of familiarity hit me. I walk to the counter, behind it is a lady with pink and purple highlights at the tip of her hair, putting on a white and red polka dot gown with her name tag which says 'Freddie', she smiles at me.

"Morning Hilsa," she greets with tone that translates 'I am happy to see you'.

She is the only person that tries with me, well, she and my doorman. Everyday I come here and I see her smile at me, tries to converse with me even though we both know I wouldn't give her a time of the day.

"Morning Freddie," I return without smiling. Keeping my face emotionless, my voice steady and calm. Freddie hands me a cup of my regular black coffee with 'Hilsa' written on it in her not-so bad penmanship.

"Thank you." I pay, leaving her the change and head out.

I don't really know much about her; Winnifred 'Freddie' Jang, I know she is a twenty one year old, She moved from Washington D.C. She isn't a student here and she just started working at Flops two months ago.

Anyway it's a day.

Coffee in hand. Music in ear. What else? Nothing, just spend the rest of my day doing nothing as usual.