An Ache
The wax image of herself has become deformed the more they wished to shape her.
The smile, the frown, the tears, all the same, all gone.
What was it like to feel? To have your heart ripped in two and watch as the blood poured out until there was none left?
Or to feel your face ache with a smile so heavenly you wished it never ended.
The tears have all dried and they want her to return, return to the way she was.
But even then, that girl has gone. Her anger, fear, happiness have all left.
The wax image of herself has become deformed the more they wished to shape her.
She no longer knows who she's become.
The mirror frightens her.
About the Creator
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More stories from Lucero Chavez Rivera and writers in Poets and other communities.
Clinging to Childhood
The playground is empty, as it should be past sundown. There is a warm breeze, and I can see everything despite the late hour. What time is it, anyway? It could very well be past midnight. I can never keep track of time, especially in the summer. A prickly piece of popcorn hides like a stowaway in the left cup of my padded training bra. I stuffed the tissue in last minute— a decision I’m beginning to regret, based on the events that are unfolding rapidly before me. To my left, laying non-chalantly on his back, is my date for the evening. He is two years older, could probably grow facial hair if he wanted to, and drives a secondhand Honda. He may as well be a Man. I, on the other hand, feel like a fraud with my too-short short-shorts, sparkly lip gloss, and makeshift push-up bra. I keep my arms pinned to my sides as I feel the dreaded circles of sweat beginning to manifest on my brand new Abercrombie top. I cup my elbows with my hands and stare down at my hint of cleavage, praying that the tissue doesn’t pop out like a white flag surrendouring my lack of womanhood.
By Marti Maley6 days ago in Fiction
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