Visions She steps out of her car in one smooth motion, flings the door shut behind her and pushes the button on her remote, causing the car to lock and honk twice in affirmation of the lock. Walking up the sidewalk, she looks like some form of liquid metal, flowing too easily, too perfectly. Her body is smooth, tan skin stretching easily over taut, toned muscle, not an ounce of extra fat visible anywhere. She wears a blue and white gingham triangle top and side-tie bikini combination, a pair of denim short-shorts unzipped and unbuttoned over the bottoms, the waistband folded down. When she pushed the sunglasses up her face to perch on top of her blonde hair, in a messy but somehow elegant updo, people wonder if she was born to do that. When she pushes a stray lock of hair out of her face, people notice her perfectly soft hands, with a tasteful French manicure on the delicate fingertips and her beautifully glossed lips, hiding perfect white teeth. She is completely out of place, from her expensive car to her expensive flip-flops. She is walking up the stairs to an old house, in a neighborhood that isn't safe in broad daylight, let alone the middle of the night. In this neighborhood, knocking on the door, she is a vision of absolute perfection.

When he opens the door, you see that they are nothing alike. A small girl with unbrushed hair rushes out the door and jumps into the arms of the blonde woman, placing a sloppy kiss on the perfectly powdered face. He smiles, and you see that a front tooth is slightly chipped, leftover from a fight in his front yard. When he reaches out to usher his sister back into the house, someone watching would see that his hands are rough and calloused from work, his fingernails bitten down painfully far. Thin legs covered in small scars protrude from a pair of baggy board shorts, and muscular forearms extend from a white t-shirt, showing that he's been doing hard labor for years, although he's young. His face isn't soft, like the young womans, and his hair is disheveled. The difference is entirely too obvious when the pair embraces. Standing next to her, the only love he's ever known, he is a vision of absolute imperfection.

Across the street, in a McDonalds, is another young man. A famous, beautiful, bright young man, with soft skin and perfectly styled hair, in only the most expensive clothes. He was the best of in his group, who was the best in the world. In the eyes of the public, he was simply the best of the best. Witty, wealthy, and physically amazing. Rock-hard muscles covered his body, smooth tan skin above it. There were few scars, and even fewer callouses, and those were simply left over from childhood, not from hard work. He was watching the young couple. They went so well together, the two visions of perfection, that he didn't even begin to understand why she would chose him, the poor worker, over himself. Sitting at the counter, staring out the window as the girl unlocked the car with her remote, with people staring, he wasn't what he perceived himself to be - an angry, well-justified ex-boyfriend watching out for his girlfriend. He was simply a vision of absolute patheticness - reduced to "stalker" status by the woman he had always considered simply "arm candy".