"I don't remember the outfits being so hideous," Sydney complains to her dad as we all stare at our reflection in the small duck pond. The ducks splash around, splattering us with some of the freshwater. I can see the ripple of a small rainbow in the water and can't help but admire it with a small smile. I kneel down and run my hand over it, making the rainbow tremble.

"I didn't know you were such a softy for a rainbow in the water," Belinda says as she kneels next to me.

"I'm just admiring it. It's not like I'm writing a poem about the beautiful arrays the sunlight must have gone through just to make something so simple and delicate that will disappear without it." Belinda lets out a small chuckle at my attempt to say something deep and meaningful.

"No, poetry was Gracy's thing," Itzel laments as she crouches down as well, holding out a piece of bread for one of the ducks. However, all the ducks instantly flutter and approach us in a swarm that knocks us down to the ground with a thud.

Sydney's laugh is heard amidst Itzel's yelp as she throws the piece of bread away from us. The ducks instantly chase after it, biting each other in the process. "They really are a vicious kind," Itzel says as she watches them.

"They have nothing on our dear Brianna," Sydney gives me a fake smile.

"Sydney," Earl warns her, "play nice."

"Yes Dad," she says as she looks down in resentment. I look up at her and stick out my tongue as she flicks me with her middle finger. Her dad had been thrilled to see her, but having learned she wasn't getting a divorce, it only dampened his mood. He seemed to avoid eye contact with her, trying to hide the teary eyes he held under his hard gaze and stern demeanor. Earl was the opposite of Sydney and her mom with a lighter skin tone, brown eyes, and a bald scalp.

"Well, I'll be off then," he grunts and begins walking away. He had handed Sydney a list of things to do around the farm and guided us to the extra spare clothes for such an occasion. After 15 minutes of arguing with each other about who got what undershirt color, he eventually had enough and placed them in our hands. No further argument about who got what. Then we were left to dress in black rubber work boots and rubber-type overalls, over different color shirts underneath, and beige straw hats with black strings tied to them.

"Thanks," Sydney raises her hand to wave before bringing it down and biting her lip, clearly rethinking the idea.

"So what's first?" Belinda says as she stands up and places her hands on her hips.

Sydney narrows her eyes at me, "we kill a bitch," she spits out.

I give her a wide smile. "Been there, done that. Not as much fun as you think. Getting the blood stains off my clothes was a pain."

"Funny," Itzel comments as she grabs the list from Sydney's hand.

I shrug, "what can I say? I'm naturally charming."

"Oh- you sure are something," she says.

I shoot her a wink and blow her a kiss. "Don't flatter me."

"Wasn't trying to," she says, already ignoring me.

I roll my eyes and stand up, rubbing my hands together to get rid of the dirt. I walk next to her and peek over the paper, managing to cast a small shadow onto the paper since I loom over her.

Noticing it, she gives me a side glance and says, "could you scoot back? You're not letting me read the paper."

I give her a smile, "I can read it just fine."

"Well, I can't with your giant figure."

"Well, who told you to be so short, shorty."

Izel's grasp on the page tightens, managing to wrinkle it slightly on the edge, as she grits her teeth. "Well, who told you to be such a tall giant?"

I take a step back and widen my hands as I look at her. With a challenging tone, I say, "If you want to play with the big leagues Itzel, make sure you can handle it."

"Enough," Sydney says and snatches the paper from Itzel's hand. "We fed the ducks. Let's go collect the eggs." She begins marching toward the chicken coop while we all follow behind. My mind drifted naturally to the last poem she dedicated to me as we passed by the grassy fields to a bare landscape filled with dirt that scraped my boots.

I stood in front of the class with a small smirk, eyes connected to those brown eyes that I could swear could pass for black. She examined me with narrow eyes, challenging me to start, but didn't she know I was ready to end it?

>>>

"Enough. The word that breaks me down until I'm like a fallen vase, broken into tiny pieces never to be the same. But there is a similar vase. A replica that is not broken but perfect.

Enough. The word that hovers on top of my head questioning everything I do. Will it please you? Will it be what makes you look at me? Will the tears I've spilled have meaning at the end.

I have a scar. It's invisible to you but when you touch it, the pains unbearable. You talk like it's nothing, but to me it's everything. All my energy and who I was has been given to you in hopes that I'd be something more. I run myself ragged so you don't have to. Like an old doll, I am tossed aside but you are kept in mint condition. Your flaws make you perfect while mine are a misfortune.

Who am I but a product of your design? You brought me up and now I do your bidding. Wonder if I have ever been my own. As I break free; like a newborn bird, I wonder if I'm pushed off if I'd tumble down or soar. I hope I soar and I hope you'd want that too.

Like a deer that's trapped by the blinding light in front of a car. I want to stand my ground and fight back. Be strong and brave in the face of danger. But in the end I worry I'll cower and allow myself to be eaten by an apex predator without remorse. My name written in the sand, flown by the wind to never be recalled. Will that be my legacy?

I've become a cynic thanks to you. I see the world not as black or white but as gray through and through. My laugh is hollow, my tears unreal, and the blood I spill is toxic to myself. Even now I wonder if I should thank you. I'm more cautious of who I see but all I allow myself is to welcome misery.

My scar runs deep in my veins, but somehow my heart is still attached. Wouldn't it be better if I didn't feel. No possessions, no cares. What I'd give to run and give into the turmolous waters that push me down. Yet, my hand is floating, unwavering, for it is stronger than my will. I'm just biding time, for no one is being called my savior.

The last question in my head. Has it been you who has made me or did I make myself in your image? Was I easily swayed by what I saw, or did I allow myself to fight a bit back. I blame it all on you. When the world and myself could have played a part. I just wonder if I'll ever be enough.

>>>

"I can answer that question for you," her velvety voice sounds through the soft claps of bored students. They all hush up as I tilt my head with a small annoyed face, my eyes burning deep into hers. "No. You will never be enough," she tells me.

I can't help but let out a scoff as the teacher reprimands, "Brianna. That's enough."

"That's what I'm saying," she says, "We've all had enough of her dramaticness. Don't you think so?"

"You think so, Brianna? You didn't think that before. Seven months of friendship and just like that," I snap my fingers, "you think you can just ruin me." I can't help but give her a sly smile as I say the next words. "You might have been something before me Brianna but not anymore."

"Girls, stop," the teacher says.

"Anyway," I continue, "the verse to base my prose poem on as the creature says, 'When I call over the frightful catalogue of my deeds, I cannot believe that I am he whose thoughts were once filled with sublime and transcendent visions of the beauty and the majesty of goodness. But it is even so; the fallen angel becomes a malignant devil. Yet even that enemy of God and man has friends and associates in his desolation; I am quite alone. You, who call Frankenstein your friend, seem to have knowledge of my crimes and his misfortune. But, in the detail which he gave you of them, he could not sum up the hours and months of misery which I endured, wasting in impotent passion. For whilst I destroyed his hopes, I did not satisfy my own desires.' It captures their dynamic as I believe my poem has done the same."

"That the creature was the true villain after all and all it wanted was for everyone to feel sorry for it?"

"No, that Victor was greedy and frankly the creature deserved better."

"Oh cry me a river," she says with a roll of her eyes. "All he wanted was someone to feel pity for him even after all the killing."

"I think," I walk towards her, "he was alone in this big world and the only person he could seek comfort with disowned him."

She scoffs, "I bet you want us to believe it's because he was a monster and forget about the fact that he was intelligent and definitely knew what he was doing, maybe like ignoring clear signs of wrong and right."

"Since Victor ignored them, maybe it's only natural he did too."

"Now we're blaming someone else for his own doings."

"No, we're blaming the maker. The creature was like a piece of clay, molded to his liking but once he wasn't. He threw him away like nothing."

"Maybe Victor didn't do it for the reasons the creature leads one to believe, but because once he realized he created a monster with no remorse, he knew there was no turning back and sought his own salvation."

I shrug as I go to my desk which is located right next to hers. "Girls," the teacher says, "this is not your debate class, this is your English lit where we were creating poems with the basis of Frankenstein."

"I did my assignment," I tell him, "so I'd appreciate less reprimanding and more teaching."

Brianna rolls her eyes at me and starts to inspect her white painted nails as I watch the teacher turn red and puffer up like a puffer fish, I can't help the giggle that escaped me. "Gracy, go see the principal."

"No, I'm fine right here," I tell him and cross my arms. If it was possible for smoke to come out of his ears, I swear I could have seen it come out. "I'm surprised you even have the audacity to try and scare me," I tell him as I move my glasses down slightly. He visibly gulps before scurrying away from my gaze.

I look over at her, her silence calling me. I can see her well-manicured hands lying flat on the desk, the nails of someone who hasn't worked a day in her life to get where she is today. She didn't need to lift a single finger for the world to fall down on its knees in front of her. She used me, manipulated me, and then left me. The old me would have let it slide, not the new me.

So I say, "I think it's worth noting that one does die," as if sealing both our faiths.

She turns her cold steady gaze to me as if contemplating what she's going to say next. Back then she regarded me with warmth, now it was filled with disdain as if I was the one who hurt her. We seem to communicate through our eyes alone. So I hope she heard me loud and clear when I thought, 'They say comebacks are personal. We'll Brianna Anders, mine is very personal and I can promise. This is just the beginning of the end for you.' She raises an eyebrow as if she had heard me and I can't help but smile at the sentiment.

"I think it's worth noting that neither of them got what they wanted at the end," she tells me.

"Well, the moral seems to be 'Careful what you wish for'" I tell her.

"Couldn't have said it better myself," she responds and taps those well-manicured nails on the desk with her challenging smile. One that I gladly return.

I watch with folded arms as Sydney takes small hesitant strides toward the deserted land and quickly unlatches the hook of the cage before sprinting back towards us with a sigh. "There, I opened it," she points at the metal door handle that swings open with the wind, "now all you guys have to do is collect the eggs." She watches some of the chickens that are stepping out of the cage before letting out a small terror scream before nodding and heavily breathing out as the panic gets to her. "I'll wait right here, or-" she points at a farther distance, "maybe over there." She makes her way to the door before Belinda hooks her arm with hers and makes her do a small turn.

"Nice try, pretty girl. You're coming with us."

Sydney starts shaking her head as she plants her heels on the ground. "No. You know I can't do chickens."

"Then you want to move the mud from the pigs alone?" I question with a quizzical eyebrow. "While we all do this, of course." I go and hook my arm with her free one as she gulps and shakes her head.

"Time to face your fears," Itzle says and starts lightly pushing her from the back as we start pulling her forward with us, carrying the basket to put the eggs in.

"Also, how the hell are you raised on a farm and are afraid of chickens?" I question her as we get closer to them.

Sydney's body seems to freeze as if we had just dunked her in a bathtub filled with ice water. Her face widens in a state of terror as she repeatedly shakes her head. "You don't know how mean they were. When I was 5, they chased me all the way to my house. One even tore my favorite blouse," she whines.

I can't help but stifle my laugh and turn around from her shock-ridden face. We let go of her arms as we reached the hen house and began picking out the eggs. It isn't long before I hear a scream followed by a, "get away from me. I won't hesitate to make you into chicken nuggets," she yells at a chicken who looks up at her as if amused.

"They can sense fear," Belinda yells through her hand-made microphone, "there like bears. You have to pretend you're not afraid. Widen your arms." She pretends to show her by widening her own arms. We all watched as Sydney followed her instructions.

"You know, chickens are known to be afraid of horses," Belinda turns to look at me with a wide smirk and I give her a wink as I continue my instruction, "Pretend to whine like one and stomp your foot."

Sure enough, Sydney follows my instructions and we watch as the chicken slowly walks away, probably wondering why this crazy girl was acting like a horse. "Hey, it worked," she tells us with a wide grin and a thumbs up. The rest of us share a look before bursting out in a fit of laughter. "Wait-" Sydney's face falls, "were you guys messing with me?"

Next thing I know, I'm getting a pile of mud thrown at my face as she gives me a wide smile, standing beside the small river bank that allows water to run through but collects sand along it. Belinda is laughing before she's hit with one too. Itzel manages to dodge it, but it isn't long before we hook our arms around her and run toward Sydney, tackling her down as well. We all stumble in the water before I grab piles of mud and throw them at them as they do the same with us. I try to walk away but am instantly dragged back down. It wasn't long before we were all tired and sitting on the edge, our clothes effectively ruined. Not even the washer could save them now. I know once we peel them off of our skin, Essie was going to throw them out and send us the bill.

"What in the hell- ″ her voice reached us all the way over here, having lived on a farm her whole life, had given her strong lungs. I place my hands over my eyes and manage to make out her form, as she sprints towards us, hands clutching onto her dress tightly. She finally reaches us and I can see the small smile behind the narrowed eyes she gives us. "Acting like children on my farm," she huffs, "making a mess instead of helping."

They look down in defeat as I smile up at Essie. She runs her eyes over the sullen faces of the rest of the girls before they land on me and shoots me a wink, continuing her charade of being mad. Essie was the mother one wanted, always on your side. The kind that if she thought you needed a stern talking to, she would give it, even if you didn't. This seemed like something we needed, but I could always see right through her.

"We're sorry Essie," I said, "we'll get back to work." I stand up and reach my hands out for the others. Itzel and Belinda accept them, but Sydney glares at me a bit before grumbling something under her breath and taking my outstretched hand.

"Oh fiddlesticks," she says, "we'll let Earl and the boys worry about them later." She holds out a hand for me and gives me her wide smile. "Let's get you girls cleaned up. I know the boys will be so happy to see you all. Her eyes are warm but turn cold as she looks at Sydney and adds with bitterness, "I hope anyway."

We all walk up the path in silence before I ask, "can we stay for dinner?"

I watch Essie's feet falter and I can hear Sydney's intake of breath. I turn to look at her and watch her press down hard on her, enough to draw blood. My hand slips out of Essies as I match my pace with hers. I can see the rest of the girls quicken their pace, clearly not wanting to get caught in the middle of this.

"Why?" Sydney asks with a gulp and a side glare at me.

I pull at my sleeve, the side without dirt, and turn her to face me before dabbing her lip, cleaning up the small amount of blood that had formed. I shrug at her as she stands open-mouthed watching me, "you said you needed our help. So, I'm giving it."

"That's very uncharacteristic of you," she tells me with a blink and pulls away.

I scoff and give her a shrug, "I've always been nothing but helpful," I grin, "Just ask Gracy."

She rolls her eyes before we sprint to catch up to them. We reach the door before Essie stops and we patiently wait, some of us more anxious than others. "You guys can stay for dinner."

"All of us?" Sydney questions in her timid voice.

"All of you," she responds and walks in without another look.

>>>>

Apologies to those who read this story here, I tend to update this one more on Inkitt because well more people read there. But I do want more readers here too so I will definitely be trying to update. I hope you guys liked my mini poem. 

Anyways, thank you for reading and please don't forget to comment, vote, and share. Love you all <3