The Mirror
Waking up every morning to a new form of self-consciousness; gazing into the mirror with unruly tears. Media had ravaged her, bringing her to the belief that those abrupt, volcanic yet small perpetual bumps on her face were revolting. Tears pouring out uncontrollably, as though a river; in the eerie silence of her beastly cold bathroom.
“Why me?”
With the call of her mother’s name, she wipes her mascara-dripped eyes clean; walking out of the bathroom as though nothing had ever been.
