Look At Me

five - ghost

The days stretched as Mallory survived on her last thousand. Oh how her followers dwindled with the death! Alike to her happiness. Mallory has not been approached nor thought about for years and when she peers in the mirror, skeletons bones poke out of her milky skin.

Wide-eyed she stares at a body, what once was covered with Gucci and Prada now in dirt and misery. The emptiness shrouded her, enveloped her being - if she even had one left.

If she could paint a picture of her reputation, graveyards would litter dry orange desert sands and tumbleweed rolls by but never remains. The dusty red wind would twirl violently in the arid air where Mallory's body would hang from a twisted dark trunk of a dead tree.

All her family are ghosts; her helpless grandmother had more news attention than Mallory got. Mallory feels like a ghost, more like a poltergeist. She wants to raid homes and swipe delicate trinkets off where they precariously lay. She wants to hear them smash on the floor, pieces scatter across and hit the wall all the while the owner laments for their once together heirloom.

But now not even the mere thought, fills up the gaping hole in her heart, nothing will.

Mallory wonders at the mirror, pours her soul into it. Her slender fingers open and latch onto the loose skin that drapes from her thin cheek bones.

"Ah." She gasps, lips pressing together as her eyes burn with tears. Ire she felt in her hollow heart, her fingers submissive to this dangerous emotion, she presses her fingertips harder and harder into the drooping skin. Sharp pain radiates throughout the area as her crescent shape finger nails dig into the skin, almost breaking it.

As she releases her nails, red arches form in a line across the bottom of her cheeks. She misses the attention, she craves it, she needs it, wants it, has to have it.

Her lust for attention is her priority. Mallory stumbles across the shambled motel room and throws the double doors open. The warm breeze twirls around her, her wispy and thinning blond hair whips around her framed skull. Mallory hears the bustle of the cars below, she imagines their reactions. Blood.

Mallory mindlessly throws her empty body over the railing. Her arms and legs submit to the will of the air, they flail uncontrollably.

Mallory's body solidly thuds on the pavement, her skull cracking open like an egg. Her bones cracked and lain every which way. Her disfigured body lies in a pool of her dark blood.

People take out their phones and capture the mangled corpse.

She got more news attention then she ever had in her life.

I guess this is what she wanted.

And what she wanted she always got.