unbridled [completed]

thirty one: g l o r i o u s .

there is a huge mirror in front of me. adjusting my purple wig, i slowly edge my index finger and caress the flimsy layer from my eye.

                                       finally, the itching stops.

                                                                             i really wanted to tell lolita who the real killer was, i really did. but how could i?

i stare at myself into the mirror and the eyes of a murderer stares right through me. one green, the other other― grey. crimson is smeared over my lips, not caring about the contours. mirrors never lie, they just show different personas of the same person. sometimes pretty, sometimes scary, sometimes horrible.

                                                                             i really wanted to tell lolita who had killed sheila macintyre, her 'best' friend of four years. but how could i?

staring right back at me is a sleep deprived silhouette who has skipped its childhood. with its bloodshot eyes and frizzy hair that has been uncombed for days, it resembles many things― none of them good or dignified. freckles are the only ornaments covering its pale face.

                                                                             i really wanted to tell lolita who the real killer was. but how could i?

when

        she

              herself

                          was

                                 a

                                     g l o r i o u s  

                                                  part

                                                         of

                                                              me?