Chapter 2 : Age

Chapter 2: Age

Char wakes in the afternoon time. Her drinking binges last all night.

·        Alone in her bedroom Char stares into the mirror of her mother’s vanity, she studies herself with hawk eyes.  Time races on a person as wicked demon. She lightly runs her fake red fingernails across the lines of her small forehead. She then pulls her ivory skin taut. Chat turns her diamond shape face to the right, examining her high cheekbones and diminishing lips. Crow’s feet surround her over plucked, penciled in eyebrows, framing her deep brown eyes. She inhales the smoky air and exhales.

Char lifts her shirt, and tugs on the front of her pink drawstring pajama bottom, exposing her stomach. Her eyes and fingers examine her C-section scar. Turning to the side to see how flat her stomach is, yet in her mind she’s cursed with a permeant belly.  

“For fuck sake, it’s not fair!” She runs her hands over her stomach then sits on the edge of the bed and rubs her face in annoyance.  

“Oh fuck this aging shit, thought I’d be special just as a vampire and never age.”

Yanks open a drawer; takes a small whiskey bottle out; looks at the mirror and smiles.

She shakes the bottle, listening to the sound of liquid splashing inside the bottle. She licks her lips.

  An urge for a cigarette pulsates through her veins. Lighting her menthol an ease pulsates through her body.   

“Might be old but least I’ll be buzzed.” Her smile fades when she sees more wrinkles.

   She directs her stare at the old image of her husband and when they were young and happy. Grunting, she throws it against the wall, glass shatters.

“Those years, what a waste!” 

 Her long fingers unscrew the black cap, tipping the bottle to her lips takes a swig, exhaling and coughing loudly from the roughness of the alcohol.  Her face aged from chain smoking and drinking whiskey shots throughout the day.

    Grasping a gold hairpin between her ruby thin lips, her white bony arms and fingers, push her frizzy, orange hair into a tight bun. Reaching for the hairspray and dispensing an aerial attack on her hair, waving away the hair mist around her.

    Char slips her dollar store sandals on her pasty feet. She squeezes into her blue jeans. Slipping on a black t –shirt.

 She dresses simple yet wears the biggest, gaudiest rings.  Believing wearing multiple bangle bracelets, gold necklaces, and rings, people will think she is wealthy. But, everyone knows her mother Rose, a cruel woman, left just a spooky house to Char, with a bunch of junk jewelry and dark secrets.      

    Char finally ready, heads downstairs to the porch to see who's in the garage. She spies on the echoing of chatter. Every Saturday she prances around her son Dukes friend to build her ego. As if it’s her own private game. Taking their stares for admiration instead of disgust, Duke tells people she’s just a mad woman. She stays away from the garage when Cypress is around, repulsed by his presence.