This is the first paragraph of my little story. If I ever work out how it ends I’ll put the rest up. Don’t hold your breath.

One by one Asher Monopoli threw all of her cosmetics out of the window. First Shampoo, conditioner, purple shampoo, toner with added teatree and aloe. Then regrettably some expensive moisturiser with exfoliating crystals. Then primer, glittery eyeshadow, plain eyeshadow, brown eyeliner, black eyeliner, normal Vaseline and red-tinted Vaseline all plummeted the three floors down from her apartment to land in front of bemused, but pleased, tweenage girls on their way home from school. She hesitated at the de-tangler, then shrugged and launched it out with the rest. If she couldn’t get a brush through her hair then she’d just cut it off in the morning.
When everything was gone excepting plain soap, some E45 and a tube of toothpaste, Asher closed her bathroom door, ran a bath, got in and cried. She was sick of her reflection. Always looking back at her, telling her whatever she didn’t want to hear that day: ‘Jesus you’re ugly, and you smell, clean your teeth.’ ‘What the fuck did you do to your eyebrows? Being a Cara Delevigne wannabe isn’t going to make him want to fuck you more.’ ‘Ohhh yeah, Spanx, those pretty little g-strings aren’t gonna cover up them belly rolls.’ Kneeling up in the bathwater, she leant forward so that her nose nearly touched the slightly cloudy water in an absurd posture of desperation, and deeply regretted everything.

It shall attempt to be funny and sad and probably be suitable for ages 13-16.

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