WARPED

Some say perfection is everything, others say it's overrated. I should fall under the latter, but I'm ashamed to say I crave perfection.

Day after day I gaze at my reflection, searching for things I want to change: the bend in the bridge of my nose, the way my left ear sticks out more than the right or how I wish I could style my straight mousy-brown hair into luscious curls without it falling flat.

The girl I see is not the girl I want to be.

Well, that's how it usually is.

But today my reflection is not the flawed girl staring back. This girl has smooth, unblemished skin. Her nose is straight as though it has been sculpted by gifted hands and her ears are the perfect shape and size. Shiny, voluptuous chestnut waves bounce along her shoulder.

"Hello, Maisie," she speaks, her voice low and inviting, "do you like what you see?"

I can't form words, other than a chaotic chorus of stutters. Until eventually I utter just one word.

"How?"

"You wished, and here I am," she answers obviously, "I am who you want to be. You can have all of this, if you really want it?"

I close my eyes, shaking my head rapidly from side to side. "This is a dream. I'm dreaming. It's not real."

"I am as real as you are." Her indigo eyes roam around her surroundings, taking in the sheet of glass barricading her. "Although, I seem to be trapped. If you release me, I will give you the perfect image you long for."

It's just a dream. Not reality. What's the worst that can happen?

"I don't know how to," I shrug.

The smile that spreads across her pouty lips is kind and enticing, enveloping me in a blanket of ease and calm.

"It's really quite simple, Maisie," she explains, "all you have to do is place your palm against mine and I will be free."

My gaze instantly deviates to her palm pressed firmly to the glass mirror, eagerly awaiting for mine to join it.

But I falter.

A tiny voice echoes at the dark corners of my mind, persuading me not to do it.

I'm dreaming. None of it is real.

Ignoring the negative voice, I carefully - almost hesitantly - lift my hand and position my palm against my reflection.

The contact breaks something within me. I can't breathe. I can't see; a thick black smog eradicates my vision until I see absolutely nothing and my weak body falls to the floor.

Then, suddenly, I slowly blink against the haze and my eyes focus on my faultless reflection. But my head dips and my gaze falls on the lifeless body on the bathroom floor. My lifeless body; skin sickly grey and withered, blue veins protruding through the paper-thin flesh. The scream I want to release is cut off and I'm once again staring at my perfection. At her perfection.

Her smile is not kind. It's not enticing. This smirk is full of malice.

"Perfection comes at a price," she purrs, "you have what you want. I have what I want and together we are going to have a lot of fun."

Her laugh chills me to the bone.

I can only imagine what carnage she has in mind.

This is not a dream.

In freeing her, I have trapped myself. She is the driver and I'm just along for the ride - however bloody it may be.

This is my prison. I have lost myself to her in order to be perfect.

The End