Eye Of The Beholder (February 10th, 2015)
I stared despondently at the mirror across from me. Its dark wooden frame outlined my imperfect reflection. The mirror hung against the back of my bedroom door, the only place I could put it where I could avoid the thing. My face looked like pocky chicken skin. The mirror betrayed me every time I looked at it. Stringy brown hair, as if just given a grease bath, plastered itself to my scalp and fell limply around my face. Why did I keep looking? Swampy blue eyes blinked to shed their dullness, but every blink professed their lifelessness all the more. I didn’t recognize the girl in front of me. Her ears stuck out like Dumbo’s, and her neck, looking too frail to even hold her head, showed stretching tendons that mimicked how thinly stretched she felt.