When Tears Run Black
When she was a little girl, she’d watch her aunt put makeup on her eyes, leaning into the mirror, gracefully tracing her eye with black pencil, brushing her lashes to make them longer. Beautiul eyes set on a gorgeous face. She also remembered her crying coal black tears. After some days of going out, she’d return at night, the tears streaming down her face. Black rivers eroding her gorgeous face. Despite the puffy eyes and red nose, she still looked pretty.
She and her aunt got older. Soon, she was in her aunt’s place. Putting makeup on her eyes. Making herself pretty. But everytime she tried, she was never pretty enough to be beautiful or gorgeous like her aunt. No matter how big she made her eyes look, or how much glitter she used, or even how little she used the makeup, she couldn’t match her. Her aunt’s perfection never reached her.
Regardless of her plain, made up face, she’d go out. Eyes done, hair up, and dressed to kill. She’d meet her friends, and together they would go all over. Everywhere and nowhere at all. They’d dance under flashing lights, and breath under the moon. Everything would assualt their senses at once, and then it would go away, and they were left in a calming breeze, excitement lingering on their bodies.
Then she would go off alone. Look in the mirror, examine her face. Still, she was none the prettier. Tears and disappointment would fall down her face. Never would she be stunning, never would she be like the woman she loved and looked up to. Afterward, she’d return home. She’d walk into the house, to see her young cousin, looking up at her as she was getting ready for bed. Was she there all day? She was. Her cousin sat on the bed, watching her get ready, and then saw when her tears ran black.