MIDNIGHT MEMORIES ~ Two-Bit Matthews

I. you're talking about Winnie? Why didn't you just say that

WINNIE

More and more girls are put down for the things they wear everyday. That dress is too short, your skirt is too tight, your shirt hangs too low, and so many other comments are made about the clothes a female wears. 

Winnie herself had experienced it on more than a couple occasions. One that seemed to stick out to her the most was when she showed up to her junior prom in a red dress, and was called a whore for wearing something so tight and revealing. 

She brushed the comment off at the time and spent her night complimenting nearly every girl there on their outfits so they could feel a sense of reassurance. She hadn't realized how much the comment bothered her until now when she sat in front of her canvas, allowing her soul to lead her hand. 

Her painting had turned into an extraordinary representation of how women often think of themselves because of comments made by other people. 

The painting featured a young girl standing in front of the mirror wearing a red dress. The dress was strapless with a dipped collar, but revealed hardly anything, if it all. The girl held a smile on her face and seemed confident in her outfit. Her reflection, however, featured the same girl, with the same dress, but two differences. For starters, the girl in the reflection had tears pouring down her face with her mascara trailing after it. The biggest difference, however, was the word whore written on her arms, chest, and face. 

It showed how girls could start the day off with a bright array and tall posture to demonstrate their confidence, but could end the day as a sobbing mess because of the words thrown at them. 

Winnie smiled sadly at the nearly-finished painting. It would need a few extra touch-ups later on, but she didn't have time for that now. She still had to take the cookies out of the oven, and get dressed for school. Across the room, her alarm went off, signalling that she had to leave in five minutes or she would be late to school. 

Her eyes went wide as she just stared at it in fear for a moment before fumbling with her paintbrushes, momentarily struggling to put them up. She got dressed quickly, throwing on the clothes she had laid out for herself while running downstairs to take the cookies out of the oven. 

She opened the oven, trying to grab the pan before realizing she forgot an oven mitt as she burned her hand. She let out a small shriek while she used her other hand to reach for the oven mitt and put it on. Instead of carefully placing each cookie in the container like she normally would, she titled the pan to the side and dumped them inside of it. 

She threw her backpack on her shoulder and was two steps out the door before looking down and realizing she forgot her shoes. She ran back in and threw on the first pair she found, which didn't match her outfit at all, and ran back outside. Hopping inside her car. 

In her rush to get to school, she didn't even turn on music like she normally would, which she knew would throw her off all day but she didn't have the time to worry about it. Once she got to the school parking lot, she glanced down at her watch. If she ran to class, she could make it in time. 

So that's what she did. She dashed through the halls, her hair flying wildly behind her as a soft laugh left her lips at the rush of adrenaline she felt. She walked through the door seconds before the bell rang. The cookies in her hand were now almost completely crumpled and she knew little to none would still be in decent shape. 

"Ms. McCoy, please take your seat." The teacher told her with a venomous tone upon seeing Winnie was still standing there with a dazed look on her face. Mrs. McClellan was the only teacher that didn't like Winnie. She thought the young girl's bubbly attitude was sickening and that she was far too naive.