Tenor

Dmoral13

United States

she/her
chick-fil-a eater
mixed
binge-er
wallflower
fangirl
music lover
athlete
baseball watcher
bilingual-ish
stress organizer
shrinking violet that smiles
taco bell lover
$5.92
reading: The Sun Also Rises E. Hemingway

Message from Writer

Need help with something on WTW? Go here:
writetheworld.com/groups/1/shared/
132307/version/254176
Have a great quote (OG or not) you're willing to share? Go here:
https://writetheworld.com/groups/1/
shared/132471/version/254606
SHOUT OUTS: (1st Place #imagineit Winners)
Queen- Lethally Mathon [read: All is Vanity]
Your Majesty- artificialaorta [read: about unlove]
Queen- BurningMidnightOil [read: the Chevaliers]
HONORABLE MENTIONS:
--RosieOnTheRun (from reality)-- [is unique]
Anha [is breathtaking]
Boogie With Stu [is brilliant]
P.S
I WRITING A BOOK!!! Hope to publish 2022!

Painted Mask

November 28, 2018

PROMPT: Turned to Stone

6
    The neon orange paint felt cold against my fingertips, as I slowly dipped them in the can. I made a small whirlpool for a couple seconds, before taking my fingers out, to place them against my cheek. I tried not to take note of everyone watching me, as I stared into the small broken shard of a mirror.
    I could hear people around me whispering, and it took all my strength not to stop and run away. I needed to do this. I had to do this. Taking a deep breath, my fingers gilded against my face, the paint becoming slightly hard as it dried.
Trying to distract myself, I studied the broken piece of glass, giving me a piece of my reflection. Except, I didn’t recognize the person I was becoming. Stopping mid-stroke, I stared at the person before me.
My light green eyes were no longer the light green of a summer forest, but black, filled with nightmares of everyone who ever looked into them. My face was no longer slightly pudgy, but thin from starvation my enemies once had. My hair no longer up in my signature bun, but let loose in a mess of tangles.
    I shivered before going back to the paint.
     Dipping my fingers in the cup of water, I tried to wash away what I had seen with the paint on my finger. Unable to, I continued to use the colors before me. Blue, purple, green, and neon orange decorated my face, each representing something different, each drying onto my skin. I could feel the paint hardening into a mask, covering who I once was.
“Are you ready?” Grey asked, walking up beside me.
“Is anyone ever?” I breathe, standing up. It was time to meet my fate.

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1 Comment
  • Quille

    Ooh!!!!! I'll definitely review this!! :DD


    10 months ago