A Sign Of Things to Come
Jul. 2nd, 2011 01:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dorksidefikerTitle: A Sign Of Things to Come
Fandom: Jem
Characters: Pizzazz
Prompt: Table 3/5. I was born with glitter on my face.
Word Count: 238
Rating: PG
Summary: She knows the face in the mirror isn’t her.
Author's Notes: I own nothing.
Phyllis watched her father walk out the front door from her bedroom window and looked down at her guitar, blinking rapidly. She wasn’t crying, her eyes were just dry. She bit her lower lip, then threw the instrument across the room with a shriek. Neither the crash of the guitar nor her angry cry were enough to summon her father back, so she stormed across her bedroom and locked the door. She flung herself across her bed and kicked her legs hard, letting out a high pitched whine. She rolled over, glaring at her reflection in the mirror.
She looked like a little girl, her face bare and blotchy and a bow tied in the side of her hair. Phyllis sat up, ripping the bow free and tossing it away, then marched over to the vanity, glaring hatefully at the childish image reflected back at her. “This,” she hissed, “is not me.”
She threw open the drawers, rooting through her make-up, then began slathering it on in violent, jagged patterns. She finally smiled at herself through fierce red lips, wide green eyes made even more prominent by thing eye shadow. “There I am…” she purred.
Fandom: Jem
Characters: Pizzazz
Prompt: Table 3/5. I was born with glitter on my face.
Word Count: 238
Rating: PG
Summary: She knows the face in the mirror isn’t her.
Author's Notes: I own nothing.
Phyllis watched her father walk out the front door from her bedroom window and looked down at her guitar, blinking rapidly. She wasn’t crying, her eyes were just dry. She bit her lower lip, then threw the instrument across the room with a shriek. Neither the crash of the guitar nor her angry cry were enough to summon her father back, so she stormed across her bedroom and locked the door. She flung herself across her bed and kicked her legs hard, letting out a high pitched whine. She rolled over, glaring at her reflection in the mirror.
She looked like a little girl, her face bare and blotchy and a bow tied in the side of her hair. Phyllis sat up, ripping the bow free and tossing it away, then marched over to the vanity, glaring hatefully at the childish image reflected back at her. “This,” she hissed, “is not me.”
She threw open the drawers, rooting through her make-up, then began slathering it on in violent, jagged patterns. She finally smiled at herself through fierce red lips, wide green eyes made even more prominent by thing eye shadow. “There I am…” she purred.