smile.

she told herself in the mirror. over and over everyday as part of the process of applying makeup. like she's wearing a complete perfect mask— bright and ideal, charming and attractive, better and best— all paired with a good red lipstick to mark the world like gloss, the kind that no one would ever forget, the kind that would make a change.

misty's a mad child at her young, and then she grew up and realized she was not that child anymore. the girl she was at fourteen, sixteen. angry, and hurt. hungry for fruitful love, performing for empty seats. the one that could not understand why no one wanted to be her friend. that very same who now could only watch through the lens and see her older self keep one foot out the door waiting for the smallest reason to flee and never let anyone close enough to truly know her.

she's an adult in a child's body but now she's a child in an adult's body. vodka, eyebags, messy eyeliner, messy mascara— they took and took from her until she no longer existed. that's murder. but firecracker would smile. smile, misty. smile. just smile.

the corners of her lips curled up as she breathed in through her nose, her eyes boring deep back to her reflection on the mirror. smile, focus, be a perfect— then she paused her mental meditation when the restroom door suddenly opens, by you.