I’m home.
Slept. Ate. Slept some more.
Hanging out with old friends, watching really random movies which I randomly liked, breaking my head over whether I should do Nanowrimo or not.
I’ve decided i shall.
And now. A drabble.
Mirror.
The day is weak but the bed has gone cold.
She stares into the mirror, hair hanging stringy down her shoulders, eyes large brown, absolutely unremarkable. She could drown herself in the sharp surface. Throw herself in it and lie, soaking the cool shimmering tones of reflections.
Evening there’s a party. She stands in front of the mirror, hair pulled up in an elaborate confection, eyes accentuated by kohl and mascara, lips lined and filled with blood red.
The surface of the mirror is hard. And hot to touch.