Squander

                                                                Squander

Pieces and chunks fell, spiraling onto my bedroom floor; hundreds of dollars spent to upkeep the falsity of my blonde hair now laid tarnished upon the hardwood. I looked up into the mirror at my DIY haircut and smirked at the mess I had made of myself. I ran my fingers through the inches that remained attached to my head and relished the sheer feeling of revenge combined with rebellion.

It charged through me causing me to raise the scissors again and continue to massacre the epitome of my physical presentation. The blunt edge of the kitchen scissors caught my index finger, bringing forth both pain and a stream of crimson. It dripped toward the ground, drops hitting my discarded hair. The cut continued to seep as I watched enthralled as I decorated the fallen hair with my own blood.

I began to study my face, every inch covered in a thick layer of makeup to mask every discoloration or flaw that lay beneath. I frowned before taking a tissue and rubbing at my entire face. The finished product was a stinging raw and shockingly red mess of freckles. It also revealed giant black bags under my eyes.

I had already discarded and vandalized the five-inch designer heels that had left my feet blistered and bloody. The bustier and spanks lay shredded near them while my gown was now featured in different sections around my room.

My eyes landed upon the tiara that mocked me with its sparkling brilliance. The worst part was that somewhere deep within me I still felt a sick pride in seeing what I had won. I walked toward it slowly, my fingertips hovering nervously over the taunting trophy.
In a swift movement I picked it up and flung it towards the mirror instantly cracking it. 

I looked up at my distorted reflection, but all I could see was the fabricated bitch my mother had built to win the crowns. I could never escape the falsity she and I had created.

I laughed so hard that I never even realized I had begun to cry.