Desmond Freeman, a serial killer with a reputation for targeting women, has escaped from Kentucky State Penitentiary. The absence of any trace has led police to have no clues about his whereabouts. This sudden unfortunate circumstance has left the c...
Hoppla! Dieses Bild entspricht nicht unseren inhaltlichen Richtlinien. Um mit dem Veröffentlichen fortfahren zu können, entferne es bitte oder lade ein anderes Bild hoch.
SinclairApartment Complex 8:00 A.M.
☠︎
Who was this person in the mirror?
They wore the black jumpsuit saved in the closet for years—just now taking the tags off it. They copied the same movements as me—keeping one hand at the bottom of tangled curls while the other struggled up top to guide the brush down, desperate to meet its partner. We shared the same name. Face as well—for a few months, except they made significant changes to its pigment and expression to their satisfaction. Luckily, Sephora products were able to hide it.
This unknown being seemed to take control of everything—except for my mind, which seemed to get more cloudy and cluttered by the second.
Kicked out of the landlord position from my outer body, I'm now an unhappy tenant.
Wonder how long that'll last.
I've been fighting hard to regain power, but the punishment life has given me for the past week or so has prohibited the battle.
Just as things were beginning to take a turn in my craving career, a disappointing phone call, an hour-long drive, nosey reporters, a new responsibility to care for, draining interrogations, dreading conversations, lengthy funeral arrangements, mentally preparing to see unwanted faces, my passion quickly abandoned me. It didn't look back or even say goodbye.
I don't know where it went or how to get it back. Maybe it's where my familiar self is hiding.
I'm also unsure of how to take this sudden change. From other's experiences, feelings of guilt, despair, hurt, and anger are supposed to flourish—especially if it involves something terrible happening to someone that's kin to you. Surprisingly, none of those made an appearance.
None.
There's no emotion flowing. Truthfully, I'm not mad at it. Only lost—confused about where it could be and if it'll debut soon.
As eco-style gel gets brushed down to keep a head full of brown slicked down, the question still lingers.
Who was this person in the mirror?
No answer. Only a short frame appears behind my reflection.
She stiffly stood in front of the wooden door. Short arms hung low beside the glittery black dress covering their body—hands pressed against matching colored lined tights. The visual wasn't different from a robot waiting to be turned on and commanded by its master.
