Thursday, April 26, 2018

Day 110.

She ran a comb through her hair, well tried to anyway.  Was it really that long since she'd done that? She was barely able to move it an inch before she couldn't pull it any further without ripping out a chunk of her scalp. 

The reflection she saw in the mirror didn't look like her own. Somehow she knew it was, but it was someone else, too. This shadow that was staring back at her had some of the features she used to have, but they were wrong. Twisted. Deformed. Broken.

Each layer of clothing she removed told its own story.  Each stain. Each tear. Each odor. As she threw the pieces in the trash, she tried to remember how she had come to wear them, but all she could remember was that bad things had happened when she had them on.
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