Ariel Rance (Protagonist/Lead):

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Michaela Yuri:

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Mary Jane:

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Harriet:

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 I've been having these really messed up dreams lately. They've been bothering me...I get so bent out of shape even trying to form the words to describe them. But, I just can't tell if these are just dreams or really vivid nightmares that cause me to black out at the oddest moments. I don't know if what I'm seeing is real or not.

The dream is the same, every night for the past month and a half. Glimpses and flashes, sparks of color that rush before my eyes like lightning, then dull down to a darkness emphasized by the most bizarre ques of light. Darkness and light. Light and darkness. I can't separate the two entities from each other, but I move through them both with some strange motive...like I'm bound towards something that's just calling out to me.

It starts with me falling, I'm suffocating with my eyes clamped shut waiting for the inevitable impact of the ground to slam my chest open and instantly kill me. Yet, even as I fall with the swift wind combing through my long tangled hair, I feel like I'm diving into a vast ocean. The ocean is engulfing me, breathing me down to the very bottom. Then, a brilliant flash of pure light strikes my brown eyes open.

I search around me, noticing the deathly silent streets of Manhattan vacant of all life. Loneliness grips my bones, and a cold chill tickles my spine. NYC is never quiet enough to hear my own breath stagger from my lips, and Manhattan never has no one walking her streets. Frazzled I look everywhere, but then...I see her.

Michaela is off in the distance, body facing towards the setting sun that appears too close to be considered natural. My friend's shadow startles me; it festers, crawls, and scratches behind her. Yet, my loneliness and sudden fear dissipates as I see her finally turn to me. That same childish smile that greeted me since we were wild kids that ruled the playground back in the day shines at me, and her delicate tattoo fingers reach out to me, waiting for me to grasp them.

I look so frantic all of a sudden, like a drastic choice was going to be made based if I grabbed her hand or not. I stumble at first, but then I run towards Michaela trying to grasp those tatted fingers. The setting sun becomes blocked, a shadow casts it's way over Michaela and I as a monsoon gathers at my friend's turned back. Raging water cascades and swallows buildings, but Michaela never moves or turns, just staring blank at me waiting for me to grab her hand. Before I can even close a yard between us, the water slams into us both, whisking me away.

I swim for my life, flailing my arms to-and-fro like a fish in the water for the first time. In the dark depths on the monsoon's harsh rain and tidal wave, a serene light shimmers above the water's surface, and I swim towards the warm light. I feel the sting of air flooding my lungs as I break to through the surface of the water, but I hear someone call out to me, excitement filled in their tone.

"Ariel! What are you doing so far out? Come back!"

MJ, Mary Jane, is standing at the edge of the sand of some bizarre looking island, waving her hands at me as her lush Havana Twists twirl around her as she jumps up and down.

I smile wide at her, feeling comforted by her familiar face as I swim towards her...but Michaela rests at the back of my mind. Is she okay? Will Harriet greet her at the bank of some tropical paradise?

"You were out so far, I thought you were drowning." MJ said, but I shrug my shoulders as I notice the weight of my soaked clothes and hair.

"It's never too far out. Never too far." I answer, but I catch my words as I notice MJ look to the sky.

Shooting stars rocket through the sky, blazing a trail of glorious shapes. We both now watch them, but I feel my legs give out from under me all of a sudden. I hear MJ scream, but I only close my eyes and let the soggy sand coat my long hair and face. I feel my heart beat, I hear my heart beat, I smell the seaweed dance in my nostrils, and I feel my eyes lose their twinkle.

Now, this is where my reality meshes with the dream and I become so fucking disoriented that I cannot tell what is my reality and my subconscious' reality. At this point in my dream I'll either wake up briefly in my dorm room or wake up in my room back home, but the end result is constantly the same. My alarm clock starts to tick and tock, and by the fifth tick, I am tocked back into this hellish blend of dream and brutal nightmare.

This time, however for some unknown reason, I wake up and I'm falling through the clouds and my hair is whipping before my eyes in flashes as my brown eyes are enchanted by a shooting star right above my head. The star becomes smaller, decreasing in size as it comes closer to my face. Before I could shut my eyes again, the star brushes against my lips, then slips into my mouth. I feel a fire light inside me, and I can feel my intestines combusted in a stream of electricity that force me to throw my head back in ecstasy as I fall faster to the ground that isn't visible to me.

The frigid kiss of water splashes on my shoulders, and I now know I am back in the monsoon's grasp and dancing in the eye of the tidal wave again.

Without warning, I feel myself land on a sturdy surface, but I look around in the darkness. Around me are nothing but swirls of shadows and deep blue flows of water, but despite this, I move forward. Light erupts my senses again, as the feathers of birds flap and surround my sight. Doves are taking flight, and I feel warmth surround me and chase out the frigid atmosphere of the darkness. I now stand on this stained glass platform with some enchanted princess on it. The woman doesn't look familiar, but that golden tiara on her head tells me she's a princess.

"W-Where am I?" I whisper.

This dream...for some reason this dream was different than the other million times I relived it. I feel this time around, I have some form of consciousness and I know what I'm doing. The other times I lived this dream, I was going through this mindless motion, but now, I feel like I'm actually awake. But, this is not NYC, and this sure as hell isn't my mom's house.

"So much to do, so little time...but you must take your time. Don't be afraid. You have nothing to fear in your own heart or elsewhere."

I jump instantly hearing this voice flood my ears, and I look around me trying to find it's owner. No one is here with me, nothing but this lit platform and my head spinning.

"Who are you? Show yourself." I demand, feeling myself revert back to my normal character.

I didn't like the idea of being spoken to like this. I could be talking to Barack Obama right now, but couldn't tell since the voice appeared to be floating off in some unreachable distance.

"The door is still shut. Now, step forward. Can you do it?" The voice asks, ignoring my question entirely.

I feel my eyebrows knit together in unchained frustration. I've been having this damn dream for months and this fucking voice doesn't have the decency to tell me who they are or what the fuck I'm doing here in my mind totally awake yet not awake. My full lips part in a heavy sigh, and I surrender to this unknown voice that echoes out to me.

I walk forward with caution, only hearing the tip tap of my shoes. My body stops instantly at this...shoes? My brown eyes look down at myself noticing only now what I'm wearing, which is a light weight lace fabric dress that cut off to my knees, and white wedges. As I reach my hand up to scratch my head, I only then noticed that the front strands of my hair are in light twists on each side of my head held back by bobby pins.

If there's anything I can say about this dream, is that I'm dressed well, and that's one thing that I'm happy about. As long as I get fashion, I'm down for any type of situation, and crazy reality-dreams are on the list too.

"Great power sleeps within you. If you give it form...it will give you strength to surpass all in your path." The voice whispers in my ears.

The platform shakes and rattles as blocks erect from the ground, light shimmering around objects that materialize on each pillar.

"Choose well."

Looking at each block, I notice that weapons are what reside on the surface. One block caters to a sword with a sharpened gleam to it's deadly edges, the other hosts a sapphire orbited staff glistening with an eerie essence, and the last holds a heavy appearing shield with a wide frame.

"Choose? Choose a weapon for what? Geezus, I really have to stop asking you questions. Not like you've answered any I had so far...right?" I ask the mysterious voice, but no answer just as the other times.

Without embarrassing myself any further, I look to the sword instantly and walk over to the timeless weapon. I lace my fingers over the hilt, and gaze down on the brilliant shine of the sharp blade. If I had to choose a weapon to defend myself with, a sword would more than suffice.

"The power of the warrior. Invincible courage. A sword of terrible destruction. Is this the power you seek?"

"Yes, I desire the sword." I whisper, but as I spoke the sword vanished in a spark of light.

"Your path is set. Now, what will you give up in exchange?"

"I see your game. Can't gain anything without losing, that's pretty fair."

I look back at the two remaining weapons, but I find myself being pulled toward the shield. Sashaying over to the shield, I grasp it, and feel my brown gaze analyzing it.

"The power of the guardian. Kindness to aid friends. A shield to repel all. You give up this power?" The voice asks. But, I nod.

"You've chosen the power of the warrior. You've given up the power of the guardian. Is this the form you choose?" I nod again, but the only answer I receive is the platform I stand on shaking.

The breaking of glass floods my ears, as I turn around to notice the platform is shattering. Stained glass shards erupt around me, and I feel my weight shake and topple. Before I can run, I begin falling once again.

My long auburn hair dances around me, as my delicate white dress flows around me, but I land once again on a different stained glass platform. I feel my weight is off again and stumble a bit, but due to my awesome degree of "smooth recovery," I regain my composure.

Light engulfs my right hand, and it become weighed down by the very sword I chose a moment ago.

"You've gained the power to fight." The mysterious voice echoes.

I look at my sword odd...I never flung around a weapon before. Sure, I've watched anime characters do it, but I've never attempted it before. Where was a spiky orange haired Shinigami when you needed one to teach you to work a sword?

I spread my legs a bit, gripped both of my hands around the handle of the sword, and flourished the weapon a bit. I felt uneasy with my use of weight, so I decided to act as though the sword was just an extension of my arm and slash forward. I hear the air cut in two at my motion, as I successfully used the sword.

"All right! You've got it. Use this power to protect yourself and others." The voice explained, but a motion on the platform catches my eye.

At first, it looks to be another part of the stained glass, yet as I walk forward and lean in, I notice a small shadow...without an owner. The shadow squirms and slithers, but muck and black gas pushes upward.

"There will be times you have to fight. Keep your light burning strong."

I flinch noticing the shadow cringe and claw itself from the platform as if it is breaking free from constraints. Eerie yellow beady eyes stare back at me, as a hunched form rips upward as a deviously unknown creature slumps after my shaken form.

"What the fuck is that!?" I yell, but no answer is given.

I step back, sword shaking in my hand. Yet, as I move back, more shadows gather and a small legion of decrepit creatures slump toward me. What was that voice talking about?

I find saliva gathering in my throat as I find it hard to look anywhere except in those impish yellow glass eyes that lock on me. I raise my sword in one hand in warning, hoping for my own sanity that these little hellish nightmare fiends keep their distance. The tiny leader of the shadow legion slithers toward me, but then leaps above me claws stretching for me. I instantly shield myself with the now heavy sword in my hand. I feel myself getting thrust back as the claws clash against the steel of my sword, and my gravity falls into my ass as I fall to the ground. As if multiplying the shadows gang on one another, and topple over each other as their claws stretch and pull for me.

I don't want to die...I don't want to fucking die here in a dream. A dream? The idea is so shitty to me now, I felt the weight of the sword getting pushed back on me and this cold platform feels real on my butt. So as far as I can be concerned, there was no way this is a dream, not this time.

Flinging the sword frantically, the shadows back off fearing a slice of the blade, and I crawl to my feet. I don't have long to recover as another creature leaps at me, claw stationed toward my head. Without thinking, I grip both my hands tight around the hilt of the sword, clenching tight to the point my knuckles buckle, and I swing my sword briskly without stopping in the motion. I hear the jagged noise of flesh tearing, and muck being cut through. I killed the creature.

The rest of the impish beings move back, then mesh their bodies back into the platform they came from and vanish.

I stumble back a bit, eyes frantically screening the entire platform, and pray for my safety. I never was the type to pray before, but with the imminent idea that I could be killed by fiendish shadows crossing my mind, it seems like a good idea.

"I can't believe I did it, I fucking killed it." I breath.

"Behind you!"

I instantly turned and slashed my sword forward, as if some code inside my body was activated that allows me to move like a semi-skilled swords woman. I watch now with wide brown eyes as my gleaming sword rips through a shadow trying to attack me, as black goop spurts from it's slashed carcase. The other shadows now rush me, but I stand my ground and exhale deeply.

"I can do this." I mutter, pushing my body forward.

I thrust the tip of my sword through the yellow orb of one of the shadows, then slash the sword to the side to chop off the torso of another. Catching the final creature in my eyes from above, I leap upwards and shove my sword through it's tiny chest.

"I-I did it." I smile surprised, flicking the black muck from my sword.

I walk forward, but my leg is caught. I look down to notice the platform I stand on turn into a slick dark quick sand, but as I struggle I get pulled down further. I slash the gunk with my sword, but nothing aids in freeing me. I let the darkness take me.

I feel the sun warm my bronze skin, and I hear birds singing off in the distance. Wait...birds? I instantly snap my brown eyes open, and I see nothing but a vast ocean. A familiar vast ocean at that.

"It's that Island I've been dreaming about. I'm here again." I figure, watching the clouds gently roll overhead.

"Hold on. The door won't open just yet. First tell me more about yourself." the voice spoke again, but I growl in response.

"I've had enough of this! You've flung me around for the past month and a half, sicked your weird shadow demons on me, almost killed me, and now you want to know how my day is?! I'm just freaking fantastic, now send me back home and let me get a normal night's sleep for once without you coming in and screwing everything up. Seriously, what are you getting out of this? I've done nothing wrong for you to make me go through these messed up dreams every night. I want to go home already!" I spit, anger seizing my mind.

"What's most important to you?"

I stiffen, as the tender voice I've become custom to reaches me ears.

"What's most important to you?"

Turning around, MJ is sitting happily on the warm beach sand kicking her bare feet in the water. I feel relief flush over me, as I run over to her dropping the sword in the sand of this horrid lonely beach island.

"MJ! What happened? How did you get here? Is this for real or no? Huh?" I ask quick, but MJ stares back at me with blank chocolate eyes.

"What's most important to you?"

I grip MJ's shoulders, shaking her as my nails dig into her russet skin. "Snap the fuck out of it, don't you understand what I'm saying? We need to go home...I want to go home already."

"What's most important to you?" MJ repeats, but I bite back my gathering tears.

Haven't I been tortured enough?

"Friendship is most important." I answer.

Similar to a robot getting turned on for the first time, this "dream form MJ robot," nods with a jolt then dismisses me with a glass look.

"What are you afraid of?"

I turn again, but in my presence is Harriet. I never thought I would be so miserable to see the tumbled curls of Harriet before, especially since I didn't have much of a liking for the girl. Yet, Michaela liked Harriet and as far as I knew from the meek nature of MJ, she liked the curly haired Latina as well. Unfortunately for me, since the majority of my friends enjoyed Harriet's haughty and insulting atmosphere I had to tolerate her. Yet, even now, even though dream sequence Harriet is obviously more tolerable than "real life non-stop always talking shit," Harriet, I feel a small pang for my reality Harriet.

"Getting old is a rational fear I suppose. I mean, it just looks sad and painful to watch all the old people barely able to function or enjoy life." I said.

Robo Harriet replies with the same mobile action as MJ; a glass stare and jolted nod.

"What do you want out of life?"

Michaela stands now in front of me, and I walk over to her. Even though I know this isn't the real girl I grew up with and shared every happy moment of my life with...I still worried for her. That monsoon I have replayed so many times before in this dream pulls us apart, and I never get to see her again until I wake up in the real world sweating like crazy as she sleeps sound in her double bed in our dorm room. I force a tired smile at my best friend, and lightly grasp her hand.

That very hand that seemed so out of reach every time I dream, that I beat myself over because I can never reach out and properly grab a hold of, I grab now. I love Michaela, she is my sister. Even though we didn't come from the same womb, I feel as though we have always been connected on the same path as each other, and I know- even though I have lived very little on this earth in 19 years- that I could never form another bond with another human on this planet like I have with Michaela.

"What do you want out of life?" Michaela asks again.

"The same as you, to broaden my horizons. To see the world together, remember?"

I feel so weak all of a sudden, and jumbled. Before I lose strength in my legs, I wrap my arms around my sister and hug her tight. I feel the weld tears finally cascade down my face. I want to go home, and not home. I want to wake up, but I don't mind hugging Dream Michaela longer. I'm so fucking tired...I haven't slept right in months.

"You want friendship. You're afraid of getting old. You want to broaden your horizons. Your adventure begins in the night. Keep a steady pace, remain confident in yourself, and you'll come through fine. You'll open the door soon. Remember who you are and the great strength the flows through your veins. You have the power to reign above all." the voice whispers in my ear. "I send you off."

I wrap my arms tighter around Michaela's neck, hugging her close. Tears staining her white tank top.

"Ariel."

I snap my head back at Dream Michaela, did she just talk?

"Ariel. Ariel?"

I look up to the tropical clear sky, it seems like my friend's voice is calling out to me.

"Ariel!"

A strike of light erases my vision, and I fall again.

 "Ariel! C'mon, you're scaring the shit outta me."

Michaela continues to shake the life from my body, as her nails slightly dig in my shoulders. I don't instantly process the force my friend shakes me with, but the thick coating of alarm in Michaela's voice is what snaps me back into reality. My eyes, open but coated in a sheet of blur, blinking quite a few times as I fully take in my scenery for the first time in what feels like days. I'm still in Asian Literature class, sitting frozen at my desk in the back of the classroom, the professor looking at me as if waiting to whip out his phone to call whatever medical help is needed. But, Michaela is hovering over me.

My gaze drifts to the perfectly strong filled-in eyebrows of my friend, as they are knitted together in an appealing flurry of distress. Taking in the subtle notes of emotion etched across Michaela's uneasy hazel eyes and the woe twisted into her oxblood matte lips, it is apparent that Michaela is scared shitless as she continues to shake me out of my daze.

Wait...did I blackout again? In class no less? This is bad. I never blacked out in class before. It must have been bad, Michaela looks petrified.

"Mordicai, I'm fine! Shake me any harder my head'll swing off."

"Ariel...are you sure? You're freakin' our teacher out. Class finished, but you just sat here. Your eyes were open and everything, but you weren't moving. Like you were in a trance and shit. It freaked me out, you sure you're fine? We can go to the hospital, you wanna go?" Michaela explains, but I wave her off playfully. I don't want to scare her, let alone explain what's really happening here.

"Mordo, chill your pants." I say, emphasizing her nickname. "I just blanked for a bit. Finals got me fucked up a bit, nothing new. I'm okay, don't look at me like that."

"Okay, Rigby." Michaela said finally using my nickname, cracking a relief stricken smile coated around rich matte lips. "You really bust your ass too much during Finals Week. You need to relax!"

I only smile weak back at my friend, trying to make my smile just as goofy as normal, but as I reach for my bag I notice my hand is shaking. The dream, this time around took too much out of me, and my brown eyes are bearing witness to the effects. My breathing is staggered, I feel out of balance, and my hands are shaking like leaves in the wind. I brush it off quick though, I don't want Michaela pushing the idea of rushing me off to the hospital. Michaela has always been a hypochondriac, but this time around, she was a bit spot on. I could tell she noticed something has been going on with me lately, something that has been festering long before Finals Week even started. Yet, every time she tries to corner me into telling her the truth, I brush her off like the plague.

Michaela is wearing an oversized dark gray shirt with cuffed short sleeves, black shorts, white low top converses, and her hair in two loose braids with dark red lipstick. I'm wearing a black crop top, light wash denim shorts, my long hair in a loose braid, black and white kimono top, and my mint blue jelly sandals. I only now realize this, and I become envious of Michaela's MAC lipstick.

"I got the Professor scared?" I whisper to my friend as we make our way out of the classroom. "Bye, Professor!" I cheer with a beaming face.

Michaela gags her laughter as she links her arm with mine and drags me off to lunch with the rest of our clique.

We are those girls. The tight clique of girls who always hang with each other and no one else, and never invite anyone new into our ranks. We sit now chilling and laughing with each other, completely infused in each others' presence. We are those girls who blast their music loud in the campus cafeteria, those girls who have every guy thirsty beyond belief for us, and have every girl side-eying us with jealousy. We are those girls that are considered "bad bitches," just because we say and do what we want and don't give a fuck what anyone else has to say or thinks of us. I'm reminded of our campus status everyday we walk into the cafe, link one of our ipods to my portable stereo system, and talk and gossip like we haven't seen each other in months even though we saw each other just 20 minutes ago in the hallway. It doesn't matter who they are, but every person in our vicinity stares at us. The problem is, I never got down to figuring why they stare. I couldn't decide if every person on campus just hated how loud and excitable we are, if they lusted for us, or just plain hated our asses.

"Turn this shit up! This my new shit, ScHoolboy Q is slaying the game." Harriet cheers, as Michaela turns the volume up on the song. "ScHoolboy Q and Kendrick any day, I'm so there."

"I could have sworn we met up to study, I could have sworn." I said, slamming my Media 160 textbook closed as I let my head fall on the table.

"After you blacked the fuck out today, you need to relax on that studying idea." Harriet said.

"Wait, how do you know about that?"

"People talk. Heard your Professor was shook too."

"Whatever, it was nothing. Really." I reassure, noticing Michaela shift uncomfortably next to me.

I've blacked out twice so far counting just recently. The other time, we all were just doing what we were doing now. The clique and I were sitting here and talking, but MJ caught me spacing out and hit me on the arm forcing me awake. It was bad enough that people talked about my Asian Literature knockout, but I don't want my friends to have a replay of the episode stuck in their heads. I don't want them to think I'm crazy.

I guess my uneasy atmosphere caught on with the group about the topic, as MJ brought up a new topic. That's just how it was for MJ. Mary Jane is sweet and silent, but when she noticed something out of place, it looked like it was her sole mission to right the wrong. MJ always went out of her way for people, she was the kindest person out of all of us.

"Are we going to that party tonight?" MJ asks, playing with one of her luscious Havana Twist. "I'm sick of studying and we can all use a little fun."

"I can't believe that idiot is throwing a party during Finals Week, he's a damn bum." Michaela said, rolling her eyes hard.

"Why are you always so nasty when it comes to Nick? He likes you, and I remember you having a sweet spot for him last semester." I said, but Michaela looks at me disgusted.

"He has this fetish for me, he doesn't like me for me. He just wants to fuck me because I'm part Asian. He's gross and I hate him! You should just listen to the way he talks to me sometimes, I'm not fucking with that."

I knit my thick eyebrows together in offense. I had no idea Nick was talking to my sister like that, but it did explain how she ditched us whenever he came around. Unfortunately, there was way too many guys like Nick in NYC. Stupid boys who just wanted to lay girls like us for bragging rights or to know "what it felt like,". I couldn't stand people like that, and I guess that's one of the reasons I never bothered to date. I quickly wrap my arm around Michaela's shoulders, and hug her tight.

"Nick is a dumb uneducated idiot who doesn't deserve the air you breath, so don't dwell, okay?" I said, but Michaela pokes my side with her white painted finger.

"I know I'm fabulous, Rigs. I don't need you to praise me all the time!" Michaela jokes, but Harriet scoffs.

"You two girls love each other too much. What about us?! I need sisterly love too, my ass needs to be praised."

"If you're that thirsty, the water machine is right there." I said, and Harriet cuts her eyes at me.

I have a sour patch in my mouth for Harriet, and she knows I do. The first week of Media 106, Harriet went out of her way to correct me on every answer I gave the professor and constantly gave me her famous "mean muggin'," look in which she rolls her eyes at me and sucks her lips like I'm the most annoying thing on the planet. Yet, that's only one of the few reasons that I rationalize my dislike for her. I never understood what Harriet's problem was when it came to me, but I don't give a shit anymore. MJ and Michaela like her for whatever irrelevant reason, so I tolerate her for their sake.

"Knock it off you two. I want to go partying tonight, please?" MJ begged, but Michaela pops a cigarette in her mouth and offers me one I quickly refuse.

"I don't know I really want to pass this semester with a 4.0 and on the Dean's List. I really want to get good grades on these final exams." I said, looking at my pushed aside textbook.

"Ariel, you're here on a full scholarship, your professors worship you, you pass every test, and you were on the Dean's List last semester." Harriet said. "Stop being a smart ass, you're going to do fine."

Harriet took her head out of her ass to compliment me? It's gonna snow tomorrow.

"It's true. I share a room with Harriet, and we both can't get on your level. Let's celebrate by hitting up Nick's party, everyone will be there." MJ said.

"I could use some booze and kush, and as much as I hate him, his clique knows how to party." Michaela said.

"But you hate Nick." I said.

"I can avoid him, stop making accuses. We wanna get shit faced."

"Fine, let's party. But I'm only staying for a bit!" I give in, but the girls clobber me with hugs and screams.

Tonight's gonna be painful. I just want to study and get these damn exams over and done with, but I kinda am a sucker for group think with my clique. I can't help but want to make my friends happy, even making Harriet happy, even though we equally dislike each other. Yet, when it comes to parties I'm a wallflower at best, I just take everything around me in if Michaela isn't at my side. But, if the girls and I are with each other, the music is right, and the atmosphere is on point, I get in the mood to let go and enjoy myself.

Maybe letting go won't be bad.

Fashion is an exceptional, yet unconventional thing. The fashion industry is in it's prime outward appearance an extension of art but into the form of wearable, eccentric parts of garments and accessories personalized to fit or standout for every individual interested. The industry thrives on fads, but shifts with the beauty of classic garment pieces and sparks of trends that cycle continuously in-and-out at specific stages. Fashion is art; there's no way of arguing differently. Designers spend months and even years looking for muses in far away lands, previous time periods, or in the face of Hollywood starlets that inspire them to take to their sketchbooks to blueprint every garment for their beloved collections. Then, just as the devote artist does, designers spend hours into days perfecting their vision into reality, with stitches, patterns, pins, fabrics, and cuts covering their fingers. The final result of fashion is objective of course. Designers understand that, just like any other artist. Fashion is an entire renaissance age of continual progress and underlining thoughts, but the industry does have it's dark side.

The industry of fashion is paved with the painfully thin bodies of women and young girls, who abuse themselves to attain this obscure image of perfection that is never acquired. These women, predominantly white due to the blatant prejudices of runway and designer fashion, are often taken advantage of and exploited by the people who they are supposed to trust. Vanity is another negative image of fashion, as every billboard in NYC and brand promo is riddled with twig thin women with large busts and blonde hair that bare no resemblance to the true women of America with their wonderful curves, beautiful curls, crooked smiles, shining freckles, or even their magnificent different shades of skin color.

I understand fashion and all of it's flaws, and that is why I feel so passionate about my hopes of becoming apart of the fashion industry, well, at least apart of the fashion editing branch. I harness fashion in me through my style, the way I walk, the way I apply my makeup, and even when I read those countless stacks of magazines that gather in piles next to my raised double size bed. I've been studying fashion ever since I attended high school back home in Long Island, and now, NYC based college student studying journalism at the prestigious college of Hunter, I still keep my dream of becoming the next Anna Wintour relevant and in my vision. But, even now as I adjust my angular black skirt like I'm prepping myself to walk down the runway, I am reminded that my expensive admiration for fashion is pumping through my blood ferociously.

"You look sexy, dressing for anyone in particular tonight?" Michaela asks, falling onto my bed as she starts to watch me get ready.

I feel my lips curl in distaste at my friend's question, but I don't bother removing my brown eyes from my full body mirror as I continue to adjust myself.

"Mordocai, do I look pathetic to you? No rational, self-respecting woman dresses for anyone but herself. Like I said before, the guys here don't interest me." I said, starting to fix my black halter crop top.

Michaela only responds with a string of laughter. "Okay, Riggs. If you don't change that attitude of yours, you're not gonna get the D tonight, or ever. Don't you get tired of being a virgin?"

"I like my virginity the way it is. We can't all lose are virginity on some random hook up in the backseat of a car like your ass did. What was his name again?" I ask, smiling wide at my comeback, but I hear my best friend snort at me. Most likely with her middle finger up at me, but I'm too focused on adjusting my high ponytail.

"Fuck you too, I have you know it wasn't that bad. Honestly, Ariel. You can't be a virgin forever, don't you want to start having sex and be close with some hottie? What if there's a guy you see tonight and you can't smash him because you're worried about your virginal vagina getting in the way. If you just got the deed over with, you can do what you want."

"I'm not wasting one of the most important moments in my life over someone who isn't going to be there the next day. I'm not interested in going through all that pain for nothing more than a brief second of pleasure, I'm not feeling it. Not now, or later. I want to look back of my first time fucking as something I can be proud of, and not think about how stupid I was for giving it up for no point. Okay, Mordo?"

"Well, when you say it like that, yea. I get ya, Rigby." Michaela said, as I hear her rustle on my bed. "You really do look good though, I wish I could dress half as good as you! Your tattoo is looking on point too."

I almost forget about my tattoo that adorns my spine until my sister said something. I got my tattoo several months ago, and it was a spur of the moment deal due in part to Michaela and I being trashed. That one night of smoking marijuana for hours shifted into talks of tattoos, then finding ourselves in a tattoo parlor, and then Michaela and I getting tatted right next to each other. The tattoo hurt beyond belief, but the finished result was breath taking. I got "strength in these bones," tattooed in Kanji on my spine, and thanks to Michaela who knows the Japanese language fluidly, I got the right phrase transferred in Kanji on my skin. It surprised me, that through my best friend's high haze she was able to right out the phrase so perfectly in Kanji for the artist, and it really touched me she was proud that she wanted to do the writing for me. Michaela got her sleeve done, with an extravagant mixture of florals swirling around a dragon on her arm right next to me as I laid on the table. By the morning, we were both in pain from the new ink coating our skin, but we were stupid happy about it.

"Thanks, dude." I said, turning to my friend finally. "You're not wearing that. Take it off now."

"Why?" Michaela asks.

"It's exactly what I'm wearing, but in white! We are not wearing the same damn thing to this party."

"But we're a team...twerk team!"

"No! Twerk Team is not out tonight, change that outfit. Now." I said, my brown eyes burning into her outfit.

"But, we'll match."

"Michaela, it was cute for us to match each other when we were seven. We are grown women now, we can't match all the time now. Besides, I know you're wearing that because you have no idea what you want to wear. I told you to start deciding as soon as we got back to our room."

"Please? Rigby? Just this once, I swear." Michaela begs, puffing out her bottom lip as she forms her hands as if she's praying. I instantly give in...and silently curse her to fashion hell.

"Alright, this once, and no more after. Ugh, when are we gonna grow up and stop calling each other those names? That show is so ridiculously stupid." I sigh, but Michaela wraps me in a tight bear hug.

"But it's our show!" Michaela squeals, as she rushes off to her closet. "Can you do my makeup too? Like yours?"

"Are you an infant?"

"I'm your baby!" Michaela smiles, offering her makeup case to me.

I swear, I'm such a sucker for Michaela it is outrageous. It feels like a small game of dolls with her. I am the mom, and Michaela is the cute little doll that I take care of and carry with me wherever I go. I'm so protective and fond of her, even when we were children. Yet, to be fair, I did have an array of moments when I became the annoyingly cute child and her the sucker mother.

"Here, take a few shots with me first. You do bomb ass makeup when you're tipsy, Rigby." Michaela smiles wicked, bringing out two red plastic cups from underneath her bed and straight vodka in her other hand. "No chaser, baby! You're winged eyeliner is sharp enough it kills, I want that."

I laugh at my friend hearty. Michaela's sweet as candy appearance clashes so hard with her bad ass ego, and I understood why because I was exactly the same. Michaela and I both looked so pure and sweet on the outside to the world who views us, but underneath that sickly innocent appearance we are hardcore punks with a tooth for all things wrong and wonderful.

After an hour, Michaela and I look like sublime counterparts to each other. I have my angular skirt and halter crop top in a wave of black with my long cascading back chest length hair high in a sleek ponytail, black caged heeled booties, with sharp winged eyeliner, bold eyebrows, and pink kissed lips. While Michaela wears the white form of my outfit, with her hair straight down to her chest, winged eyeliner, oxblood lipstick on her lips, and black strap heels.

(This is the outfit)

We both are almost drunk, but we head off to meet MJ and Harriet to head to Nick's party.

The music is booming, alcohol is flowing in every direction and not one person is empty a cup filled with some delicious liquor, the apartment is coarse with the scent of weed and freshly rolled blunts, people are dancing hard on the floor as guys and girls are grinding on each other, and the atmosphere is pumping with lust, young stupid fun, and energy.

"This party is jumping! This music got me goin' in. Twerk Team is here ladies!" Harriet yells over the loud music, and my friend and Harriet start to twist and curve their full bodies to the music.

"Ugh! Why Twerk Team? Can't we just dance normal for once?" MJ whines, but I smile. I can feel the alcohol working wonderful chaos on my system.

"MJ, loosen up a bit. You know we gotta show out!"

"YEA! Ariel's feelin' it, we gotta go on the dance floor! When Ariel gets started, she slays." Michaela screams, tugging me onto the dance floor with Harriet and MJ close behind.

The clique and I all laugh and scream in fast excitement as we make our way through the thick trench of people on the dance floor of the campus suite. I flip my hair over my shoulder as I move my body fluidly to the music, my curves and ass hitting every beat the song has to offer. I arch my back bouncing to the music, as the whistling of the boys close to us flood my ears. I never mind their hungry eyes and their pleas to get my number as I feel Michaela grab my hand and twirl herself in front of me. My friend then grinds herself on me as she starts to bounce her as, quickly twerking the ass she furiously works on in the gym daily on me. I let out laughter, as the heat of the room makes the alcohol in my system thrive faster, but Harriet slaps my ass as she hands me another infamous red cup filled with another infamous form of alcohol. I give my frenemy my thanks, but turn to MJ. Mary Jane looks partially awkward, but she is at least moving to the music perfectly. I tap MJ on the shoulder and pass her my drink, coaxing her to drink up. If alcohol is good for anything, it is good for giving you courage and relaxing in the party environment. MJ drinks the alcohol quick, and settles into the scene. Good, MJ deserves to have a good time, she is always so obsessed with being a good girl, tonight is her turn to have fun.

"I need this girl's number!"

I hear a boy in the party cheer, but I just bounce my ass and dip my shoulders. I'm too into the music to care for the guys around me, and Michaela is going full twerk team on everyone as she raises her leg and claps her ass.

"OH SHIT! THIS MY SONG! WE GOIN' IN!" MJ screams, as the song changes. Harriet yells out too, as the new song is obviously on her list of top songs of the moment.

The circle of people around us gets thicker, filled with other girlfriends getting into the spirit and doing their own dance moves with their clique, with guys admiring the dancing girls, with guys goonin' with their clique, and with a large group of boys checking me and my clique out. All the boys hoots and ha, some dance with Harriet and motion toward MJ, but Michaela and I stay together. When it came to my friend and I, we are very specific about who we decided to dance with. Michaela and I only dance with guys we ware really into, and if we are too drunk to take off our beer goggles to notice we are dancing with unattractive boys, we usually drag the other away to help us save face the next day. Harsh, but that's the way it is.

I feel the music vibrate in my hips, as they swing back and forth, but Michaela taps my shoulder as she gives me the "look,". The look that said she was ready for us to bust out our coordinated moves, those damn moves we spent hours perfecting in our dorm room. I nod quick as she quickly jumps to my side and we both slam our heeled foot to the ground at the same time, shake our hips in sync, then turn and twerk to one side then the other. The hooting of the crowd gets louder as the circle opens up, as people circle and stare at us. I only start to circle Michaela as she goes in deep, moving her arms, flicking her hands, and bobbing her head to the side as her hair flies in a flurry around her. I bend and dip down on her, then lift my skirt a bit as I bend on the floor and bounce my ass making it clap. Then with a snap, I bounce back up, then Michaela and I come back to back as we mirror each others hand movements and turns of the head. Finally, we swerve, and face each other as we dust each others shoulders off. It was all so fast, but everyone erupts in applause as MJ and Harriet bring Michaela and I into a tight hug as all the dancers come back on the floor.

"Ma, what's your name?" a boy asks. He looks tall, yet muscular and his face looks familiar. Basketball team maybe?

"Ariel." I yell over the changing music, wrapping my arm around MJ's side as she downs another drink. Harriet and Michaela start mouthing the words to the next song as they dance with each other.

"Let me get you a drink."

"Nah, I'm good! I-"

Before I could say more the guy grabs my hand and pulls me to him as he starts to rock me to the music. To be honest, I don't mind. I'm drunk as hell, and he looks decent enough to dance with, and the wide goofy smile of Michaela reassures me. I feel his large hands gripping my waist and his waist grinding on my ass, but I smile with confidence. Boys fall for me, and I love it. There is nothing more fulfilling to me than watching how boys thirsted for me, and beg for me. If there was ever a weakness for women, that had to be it. Harriet skips over with another boy trailing behind her like a lost dog, and offers me a lit blunt, but I take it and hit it slow. Inhaling the astonishing natural herb into my system, and exhaling with comfort nipping at my bones. The song changes again, and Harriet and Michaela are standing with a few guys as they all take hits off a blunt, but I pass the dutch to MJ and she breathes in the smoke and lightly chokes coaxing a devious smile from my pink lips.

"The way you danced out there was crazy, you're sexy as hell." The guy compliments, as he talks into my ear. "Wanna go somewhere quiet? Talk a bit?"

"I'm here with my girls, I can't leave them." I said, feeling his large palm slide across my exposed torso and feeling my gut turn in discomfort. "I'm good here."

"Come on, ma. Only a second."

"I said no. Now, you can back up." I said, moving away from him, but I'm pulled back with enough force to almost take my feet from the floor. The boy's hand grips my arm tight as he runs his other hand up my ass, and I feel rage erupt in my head, and heat volt through my system.

Instinct on my side, I turn back and strike my hand across the guy's face and shove him hard into the wall with enough power that makes my brain numb more than the weed. "Get the fuck off me!"

"What the fuck? She said back off, you dip shit!" MJ screams, as the rest of the party goers look back on the scene unfolding, and a few guys restraining the asshole who grabbed me.

"Chill! Chill! It's alright!" one of the guys restraining the muscled jock yells to me, but I glare.

"Tell that fool to keep his hands to himself, I'm not playin' I'll fuck him up!" I scream back, as I feel Michaela come to my side and pull me along with MJ to the other side of the party.

"What the fuck happened? I leave your ass for a minute, and you fightin' niggas? Damn, I can't take your ass no where." Harriet said, taking another hit off of a blunt. But I snap.

This bitch...did she not process that that scumbag just grabbed me, and put his hands on me!? "Shut the fuck up, Harriet. Before I bust you in the mouth." I said, but Harriet looks at me with challenge in her eyes.

"Can you both knock it off?! Harriet, stop fucking with her, this is serious. Pass me that drink, here Ariel, drink up. I can't believe Derell, he's wild tonight. He's the head of the Basketball team, and he's actin' like this? That's some shit! But, dude, you fucked him up. Look at that dent in the wall, Ariel. Are you on some steroids or some shit, that dent is huge. You practically shoved that idiot through it!" Michaela said, rubbing my exposed back, watching me sip the burning liquor down my throat.

Looking at that wall, I feel my head throb...that dent is huge. I know I pushed that shithead Derell hard but I didn't think it was that hard, the dent looks like a guy kicked Derell into the wall. I sweep my fingers over my forehead, my head is aching and my eyesight is blurring. Rubbing my eyes, careful not to fuck up my makeup, my sight still hasn't improved.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I notice a form out of place. The party before me is starting to slow down and mesh into one single form of nothing around me, but as I look to the side, this one form is bold against the dulling scenery. It was a guy...one I don't believe I have seen through my constant walks around campus. I know I don't usually notice people, but this guy, there was something about him that I knew I would remember if I ever saw once. My throat throbs and tenses, my eyes grow heavy and shake with struggle to see clearly. The boy I have my sights on looks surreal compared to the erratic setting of this party, like he didn't belong and never would belong here. He walks across the broken wall where Derell freaks out like it has no significance, and moves in silence around the people who dance hard to the beating music. His hair is combed back, and a solitary black. His face is strong and chiseled, with a strong jaw that is coated in a light sheet of facial hair. Eyebrows knitted together in an odd mixture of neutrality and uncaring that sleuths into his whole persona, his leather jacket catching the gleam of the dull lights, his black shirt clinging loosely to his sculpted torso, and fitted jeans just as dark as his ash hair. I don't know this boy...and it freaks me out. I can't separate if it has to do with my intoxication or the adrenaline rushing through my veins because I was the one who shoved Derell almost clear through the wall. My head aches. I feel nauseous.

This unnatural boy's eyes lock on mine like a snake's fangs snaring a mouse, and his eyes are a gust of heartless darkness and magnetic fire. I can't look away, and he stares back at me with his murky eyes with sharp intention that makes me weak as soon as I snatch my brown shaken eyes from his.

I feel so sick...he's making me sick.

My stomach aches and turns as I stare down now at the floor, and Michaela's voice echoes in the back of my thoughts. The spike in my head grows larger, then as if getting slammed with a hammer, an atrocious high pitched frequency violates my ears. The noise slices into my hearing faster than a knife, and it screeches at an inhuman height that sends my nerves out of the window, and my teeth grinding hard. The eerie frequency echoes in my brain, thrashing it repeatedly, and forcing my head back in agony as I grip my head.

"Ariel?" Michaela yells, as MJ grips my shoulder.

"The noise! Don't you hear it? Make it stop! My head is about to bust open!" I scream out, as people around us start to stare. I feel my brain splitting apart as the frequency gets higher, and I feel all the alcohol rise to my throat.

I break from MJ's grasp and flee Michaela's voice, rushing off to the bathroom. Everyone is staring, eyes are watching, those black abysmal eyes are invading my sight. A girl looks at my horrified as I rip open the bathroom door, and she bitches as I shove her out and lock the door. She screams about trying to fix her makeup, but I lurch and puke into the toilet. The blare is jabbing my brain, the frequency is turning my vision into static, I feel myself dripping into the insanity buried in the back of my mind. The dreams are flashing in my vision that is becoming full with the same static that invades a dying television. I'm falling through the clouds, no one is saving me, I'm falling fast, there's darkness, those murky eyes are darkness.

"Just fucking stop! It hurts, I-I can't anymore." I plea out to anything willing to listen. "I'm dying."

As if someone up in the heavens finally took pity on me, the frequency dulls down, my vision starts to quell back to normal, and my head pulsates faintly. I collapse onto the frigid tile of the bathroom floor, hugging the toilet tight.

Is it the dreams? I can barely breath. What happening to me?

I feel the salty tears fall onto my face, noticing I'm crying now uncontrollably. It's too fucking much for me, it was bad enough I thought I was going crazy, but now I'm sending people through walls and having my head split open. What's happening to me? What are those dreams doing to me in this reality?

"Ariel! Open the door! It's us, we want to see you now! I swear to fucking God I'll kick this door in!" Michaela yells, slamming on the door. "OPEN IT!"

"I-It's okay." I said, my voice is weak and fragile.

"No it's not! I'm done listening to your bullshit, what's going on! Let me in, stop lying!" Michaela yells.

"Give me a fucking second, Michaela." I said, irritation cutting in my words. Yet, it must have worked, because Michaela grows silent on the other side of the door as the music starts blaring in my ears again as it replaces the deafening screeching. I drag myself to the mirror, and gasp at my reflection. Mascara running down my cheeks, eyes red from the kush and tears, hair out of place completely in my high ponytail, and lipstick smudged. I cover my mouth as I feel more tears spill down my face. I'm so fucked up...and it's starting to show now. I splash my face with freezing cold water, dab my face, fix my makeup, take off my lipstick, and pull my hair out of the ponytail and comb my cascading locks with my fingers, and parting it at the arch of my brow.

"Open the fucking door already!" Michaela bangs again, but I open the door swiftly.

I jump back, and almost throw myself onto the ground. Harsh dark eyes glare back into my brown eyes; the same enigmatic boy from before is standing in front of me with an emotionless expression. My mouth parts, but closes again. What can I possibly say. He looks me up and down, then blinks at me as he sticks his chin out. I mumble an incoherent phrase at him, which only for a fraction of a second causes an easy warm in the icy gaze of his murky eyes, but they snap back. "Get moving."

I snap back from him, his words catching me off guard from his silent solitary demeanor. Yet, following his cue, I pushed past him, and out of the suite party. I continue to run, feeling my thighs burn, and breathing becoming labored. I run now as if trying to escape NYC itself as I run out of Hunter Housing and into the streets. I don't stop until I trip over my heels and fall almost on my face.

"Ariel! Stop, what are you doing? It's not safe!" Michaela screams after me.

My best friend falls to the group with me as the busy NYC residents walk around us, too concerned with their own problems. I start crying again, gripping my head feeling Michaela hold my shoulders.

"I'm so fucked up, I don't know what's happening to me." I cry, but Michaela brings me into her arms as she rubs my back.

"Shh. It's the dreams? The blackouts isn't it?" my sister coos, but I hug her back tighter as if my life was slipping from me.

"What's happening to me?" I cry out.

Michaela doesn't say anything, she just holds me. She whispers words I can't clearly hear to me on the warm pavement, and runs her fingers patiently through my hair. She knows that something is wrong, terribly wrong, and it's getting worse.