Whenever I looked at her, she always had the same look.
Hollow cheeks. Withered yellowing skin. Blood shot eyes. Dropping shoulders and lifeless eyes.
Her clothes were too big and falling off the skinny and distorted body.
Her mouth was always slightly open with rotted teeth staring back.
She was always there, looking back at me and she terrified me to pieces. My heart hammered in my chest as she mimicked at the same time as me. I wiped my hand through my greasy hair and she wiped a hand through her greasy and wiry hair.
I pushed the green bottle to my lips, which were dry and cracked and let the burning sensation of alcohol pour down my throat.
Why must I always see that woman? Why could she not leave me alone? Who was this shrivelled up woman?
Why....did she look dead?
I pushed the rim of the bottle from my dry and cracked lips and put a withered yellowing hand to my face.
It suddenly came at me like a hurricane.
It swept from the bottom of my feet and upwards- a great surge of twisting emotions. my hand shook as I realised who I was looking back at....
I was looking at myself.
So how was that for a short story?
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