A Collection of Short Stories and Similar Things

Introduction
This is a collection of short stories (and I mean short) about various, mostly personal, things. Too short to be full stories for now- they’re only a couple of paragraphs long each. Criticism is always appreciated!

- Skyfire111

- Watch What You’re Looking At -
They met in a dream, almost. A ball full of brightly clothed people smiling and laughing in fake tones. Mostly fake at least. There were two people in that room who were not fake. They were not lying when she said that she loved him, he was not lying when he replied. The woman in the blue dress was not laughing to impress, the one she was dancing with was not dancing for the looks of others. Not that you could tell looking at them. To an observer they were not different than anybody else in that room. Glances can’t tell you about love. But how could they tell?

Love is hard to define, whispered words between partners and laughter shared with a friend hard to capture in a sentence. So don’t tell them that because they share a room and the music with a couple of social climbers they are not real. They are and they will show you one day.

And they are not friends, let me tell you that. Friends don’t dance so closely, eyes only on each other instead of casting flirtatious glances to others. There is something more than friendship in the way one of them tucks her hair behind her hair. Because friends do not hold their heads so close together, do not say such thing or hold hands like that. Look closer and see past friendship and false images and see love.

There seems nothing more perfect than this pair right? A man and a woman dancing together in a romantic room, standing out against more inferior people.

The thing is that they are not a man and a woman.

- Cut My Hair -
''And I’ll cut my hair

And maybe I won’t cut myself out of this body''

There was once a girl with a dirty face who hated the thought of makeup and nail polish. She couldn’t quite fit into what was expected of her, a thick barrier separating her from the other girls. So she changed, distanced herself from what she was until she could almost bear to paint her nails. She ignored the anxiety. Pretended that her eyes didn’t sometimes stray towards girl instead of the men she knew she should be attracted to.

But her trembling hands would never hold eyeliner, she couldn’t let herself wear the dresses she hated so much. Skirts were traded for pants, dresses for jackets until she felt a little bit better in her own skin. Her hair was still long, but she didn’t care so much anymore. Anxiety still lived in her head but she wasn’t forcing herself to be something she wasn’t anymore. And maybe someday she’ll cut her hair and wear short sleeves but for now she was happy enough. No more dresses and no more nail polish that she would just peel off.

Her eyes strayed towards girls even more now, doubt rotting in her brain as she turned her head towards men. The girl is faking that, not where her eyes naturally stray. So she’ll get better piece by piece, come to accept her own skin and her own thoughts. Maybe one day she’ll tell the whole world how she feels. Next year or the next year but she will.

Maybe she’ll have to wonder every day if this person is safe to tell, if she can cut her hair and be happy or if she’ll wear heels and cry. If the scratch marks from sleepless nights and times when her heart races a bit too fast will ever fade. But she’s happy now, sort of. That’s enough.