Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

Task 1 - Ordinary Day (NN)

Mirrors: the equivalent of curiosity. History has done the strangest of things with them, as have people long dead. Believers in the supernatural say they are portals to another world, another dimension, but, frankly, Naomi never believed in any of that. She preferred to look at the physical aspect of things - inanimate things, that is. They can be grimy, covered in a fresh layer of dirt and dust. They can be broken, cracked to the point where no reflection can be deciphered, turned into nothing more than a blur of twisted colors, jagged shapes. They can be scrubbed to the point of sparkling. Every detail could be noticed in the surface of such sleek perfection. And, sometimes, they can be average. Not dirty, nor immaculate. Just in the middle.

In Naomi's case, the very last was the state of her mirror. In fact, she'd recently pressed her lips to her own reflection, and now a smudge of red lipstick stuck proud to the corner. She gave herself a once over, ignoring the red stain. Her grin surpassed the boundaries of the image slapped against the glass. Damn, I look good.

With a clap, she clambered to collect all of her makeup materials and shoved them in a basket to the side. Some tubes didn't make it in and instead rolled over to the edge of the sink. She lunged to catch them before they could hit the ground, and tossed them like basketballs. She frowned. I still missed, and I was only a foot away. She shrugged. This is why I'm a psychology teacher, and not a sports coach.

Naomi meant to leave the bathroom afterwards, but couldn't help but give her reflection more time out of her day. "Damn girl, you look good," she said, clearing her throat and deepening her voice. "I just wanna kiss 'dem luscious lips all day, boo-boo."

She reverted back to her normal, tinkling voice, and held three fingers to her bottom lip, twirling in a dress she pretended she wore - in actuality, it was just a skirt that stopped below her knees and a white button-up shirt. But hey, a girl can dream, right? She snorted at her deeper-voiced-self. "Oh, stop it, you."

Naomi then sighed, staring at her reflection dreamily. Then, as if realizing what she was doing, she scrunched up her nose and raised a brow at herself. What the hell did I just do? She slapped the bathroom light off, rushing away from her moment of pure...whatever that was. Eh, whatever, I'll blame the caffeine. "I should really stop drinking so much coffee," she said, picking her full thermos up off the coffee table. The hot liquid sloshed around inside, and she breathed in the smell of crushed beans and sweetener. What am I saying? I can't give this delectable beverage up.

Unable to control her cravings, she flipped the top open, tipping it to her lips. Only a few drops of the steaming drink managed to glide across her tongue before something furry brushed up against her leg. At first she simply ignored it. But then two more came barreling for her feet, and then three more, crashing into her, and the thermos came free of her lips and heat travelled down the front of her chest.

Unlike a large majority of women in their thirties that were just about done with the complications of life, Naomi did not scream her head off at her cats that didn't know any better. Instead, she simply sighed, fell to a crouch, and scratched behind the ears of one of her pets, a tabby by the name of Leyrad. Briefly her coworker, Radley, crossed her mind. He'd have a fit if he ever found out I yelled at you - and I'm terrible at lying, so I might as well do the right thing to begin with and not yell. What good would it do me, anyhow? You don't care.

Naomi stood and scratched her head. You're like me when I was a teenager. She shivered at a recollection of all her previous phases, and forced herself to investigate the brown stain trailing down her shirt as a distraction. The corner of her mouth forced the rest of her cherry lips into a frown. "This was my favorite shirt." After thirty seconds of mindless thinking of what could've been, she piped up, slinging a purse over her shoulder. "Y'know, if the kids ask about it, I'll say I was painting a picture of dirt - oh, no, that wouldn't work. They've seen my stick figures on the board." She chuckled. "Thus, why I'm not an art teacher."