Sharpie

She is standing in her bedroom. She is watching the girl on the other side of the room, eyeing her, wondering what she will do. The girl pulls out a sharpie and holds it in her hands, looking back at her from across space that separates them. There is a good gap between the two of them, but it is not enough. She wants to turn away but her curiosity keeps her still. The girl lifts the sharpie and after removing the cap places it against her forearm. It is cold as she begins to trace the tip over herself, leaving a word in black. As she loops the final letter instead of picking up the pen she continues on to write another, leaving a black line between the end of the first word and start of the new. She watches the girl do this and reading the words wonders her motives. She looks at her face and admires the glow that only accompanies those gifted with natural beauty. Her eyes are warm and afraid and look back at her with softness and hate. Her face is one that is easy to look at and because of this she does not look away, instead holds eye contact with her and hopes that maybe this will reveal answers about her strange behavior, but it does not. Instead she watches as she continues to write words. She has not lifted the sharpie yet and has progressed from her forearm up to her collar and down to her stomach. She twitches a smile and continues down to her hip. She is now on her fifth word and it snakes over her hip bone and the inside of her thigh. She is crouched now as the words spread over the inside of her knee to her ankle. She observes the girl and knows that she wouldn't share this moment with anybody else. The girl has allowed her into her most secret of moments and she cannot help but gaze on. The words she traces are all of similar category and she is beginning to piece together that she is describing herself with them. The girl is painting on her body her perception of herself, and as soon as she realizes this, the scene turns grey and the weight of understanding comes on. She aches for the girl now, knowing her motives. She looks at her and without speaking tells her to stop, that these words are pointless. They have reached back up her other leg and up her stomach. They dig into her neck and up her jawbone. Letters line her cheek and sprawl over the bridge of her nose. Then they stop. She lifted the sharpie and covered the exposed tip with the cap. The last word was written and now she is just staring at the girl, reading her. The words did describe her, very accurately. They portrayed her physically and her demeanor to such a tee that it made the scene more confusing. It is a strange sight to see someone who thinks that they are beautiful crying alone in front of their mirror.