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The sound metal flung back into place as the woman released the mailbox from its wound hinge. The envelopes curled around her fingers stood under scrutiny as she returned to her front door. Within the folded paper, she’d pray for a call back--that one of her numerous applications to the thousands of resources she provided as a freshly graduated biochemist. She knew it would be difficult to be a scientist in a world made against her; it was something she had to do. Had to prove. 

She placed the now torn material across her kitchen's pristine marble island, the same island she had bleached for the third time that day. Hoping that if she had provided the letters a good enough throne, that theyd prove to be forgiving… but yet again, another misplaced achievement. The woman's long black hair curled around her trembling shoulders, its thousand brushed silk showing just how much she took care of the things in her life. Her carefully crafted life. 

“Dear Dr. Walker, Thank you for your interest in the Biochemistry Research Associate position at … After careful consideration--” 

RIP! 

SHRED! 

TARE! Her jet black hair flung widely as she tore the paper to shreds, her hands reddening from the sheer force of the sudden friction between her nails. Her kitten heel threw down into her trash can’s kick latch before her elbows were thrown into the unforgiving dark--and with them, each rejection letter. Each demeaning feeling. Each harsh truth she’d fail to acknowledge. The sounds of muffled screams tore through her bitten lip as the motions became rougher, more violent, more defiant. 

Finally, everything stilled. That is with the exception of her heaving chest. Ryne Walker, an honoured student, graduated with clever outsider projects-- a student who extended the reach of bachelor's. She was a prodigy, a monarch, a perfect image. Everyone's choice… when it came to women. She knew why she was rejected… 

Because she was up against men. 

In every case, every project--there was a man who trumped her in audience, dominated her in choice. But never performance. Ryne knew, even if she didn't want to admit; she would never win against them. No matter the grade. 

Her eyes shivered as she spat curses into the disposable plastic. Her hot breath fell off her teeth in harsh gasps. The quiver in her chin pinched at her nose. 

“Stop!” Ryne cupped her mouth, then spat. Realizing her mistake. 

Her form fell across her polished stainless steel sink, her face sank into the basin before harsh chemicals were placed on her bare skin--erasing the memory of the indirect contact she had just made with the trash at the bottom of her garbage bin. She could feel herself losing control, her vision blurred over her marble counters before focusing on a convenient distraction…

“Price… you are supposed to be the last one to ignore me.” her voice fell beneath her feet, curling around her ankles as not to fall any further. Desperate to keep her at least above the grave. 

Her body slumped over the counter until she made it to where she had locked eyes with; damp coffee grounds on white marble counters. Her delicate finger traced across the mess, picking it up only to reveal what she had already expected. Discoloured stains beneath. Yellow tarnishing the polish. 

Ryne’s eyes dulled as she grabbed a paper towel, wiping it up with the hand the perpetrator had snuck a golden band onto. She formed a smile as her darkened gaze fell into the shimmer. Ignoring the stain that hid in its constant motion. 

I love the creepy pasta fandom because its so perfectly imperfect. Novels, series, arts, games. It's like a perfect beginners project everyone grows to love because of it. How beautiful is that