Help from the devil

An electronic, cold buzzing awakens the room, bringing a sleeping Molli to life, her body lazily reacts with the piercing noise as she sloppily tears herself from the nest of her bed. Her feet gently glide over the splintering oak floor, quietly stepping as if she was attempting not to wake someone who wasnt there. Her hand fumbles with the machiene whist her free hand rumages through the aging shabby drawers, her feeble fingers lightly skimming the clothes before resting upon a purple piece of cloth. When succeding to cease to piercing noise she rests her other hand upon the cloth and rising it from the pit of materials. Her eyes scanned the material, eyes absorbing every detail of the fabric, the way the silver embelishments highlighted the rouching of the fabric, the way the soft neckline would hang perfectly on her, the way the design projects beauty, the way the shirt owned her, she did not own the shirt. Her breathing hitched, as she took one last shaky breath before dragging the fabric close to her chest.

"One day..." fell from her lips

A single tear fell from Molli's piercing blue eyes. Her hand swiped her cheek, disposing of the sign of emotion staining her paling cheeks. She buried the vest styled shirt deep within the drawer replacing it with a cream, sitched sweater, covering any sort of feminism visable and a deep denim pair of skinny jeans. She opened one last drawer, retreving a sensible pair of briefs and bra.

She relieved herself from the slightly bending postion before making her way towards her beside table, also used as a dressing table. She placed the clothing carelussy onto the table.

Molli hooked her thumb and index fingers around the waistband of her pajama bottoms before tugging them down around her curved waist and around her ankles, she stepped out of her once warm and cosy bottoms and folded them into a pile onto the bed. She then continued to grip the hem of her thin bed shirt pulling it over her chest and over her head leaving her exposed to the cold. Molli quickly made the transiction of undergaraments before pulling all remaing energy from within to step into her worn, empty clothes.

Her eyes traveled to the mirror which absorbed her apperance.

Fat.

ugly.

Hated.

unwanted.

Alone...

Her tounge skimmed across her bottom lip, awakening her from her cocoon of self loathing. Her eyes skim back and forth before resting upon the hurricane diaster of dirty blonde hair. She dragged a heavy black brush through the mess, taming it before gathering it in a sleek pony tail. One last glance in the mirror and she was done.

Molli hastily exited the room, not wasting time as she need to leave soon to make it in time for hell. Her cold hands pressed against the white wooden door, pushing it open before striding in towards the bathroom sink, reaching for her toothbrush, she pairs the bare item with toothpaste and proceed to brush away, once the once clean paste is spat into the sink she reaches for the mouthwash, welcoming the familar burn that accompined it. The mouth wash soon followed the pastes way down the drain. Mollis backhand rubbed against her burning red lips, collecting any excess liquids from around her mouth. She glanced up to the reflective glass mounted on the wall staring back at the person being portrayed.

Why did she have to be who she is?

Why was she this character who is so unlovable?

Why is she even here?

Her deadly thoughts are interupted by the feflection of the aging clock hanging on the wall behind her.

Shit.