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Jun. 15th, 2005 08:31 pm
Original Fic
She paints her nails to colour her mood.
The sun shines, there’s a smile on her face and her nails are painted yellow. In a fit of rage, they’re red, when the temperature drops, blue is the colour and when t’is the season, they’re green and red.
Today, her nails are black.
She’s never coloured them this way before and she wonders just how much it reflects her state of mind. She’s depressed, that’s obvious, but how depressed? Is it because she was suicidal that she painted her nails black or did the dark colour drive her to killing herself? She thinks maybe she should have considered the weight of the colour of her nails before she cut open her wrists and let velvet crimson spill from her veins, mixing with the pitch-black.
Her mother gave her the black nail polish.
“It was missing from your collection,” she’d said. “Now you’ve got a full set.”
She’d never wanted completion. Having things unfinished was good; it mirrored herself. There was always a piece missing, there was always something a little bit off. She wasn’t complete, so why should anything around her be? Now she’s got every colour of the spectrum in her crooked wooden drawer and it’s complete and she’s not.
The sun shines, there’s a smile on her face and her nails are painted yellow. In a fit of rage, they’re red, when the temperature drops, blue is the colour and when t’is the season, they’re green and red.
Today, her nails are black.
She’s never coloured them this way before and she wonders just how much it reflects her state of mind. She’s depressed, that’s obvious, but how depressed? Is it because she was suicidal that she painted her nails black or did the dark colour drive her to killing herself? She thinks maybe she should have considered the weight of the colour of her nails before she cut open her wrists and let velvet crimson spill from her veins, mixing with the pitch-black.
Her mother gave her the black nail polish.
“It was missing from your collection,” she’d said. “Now you’ve got a full set.”
She’d never wanted completion. Having things unfinished was good; it mirrored herself. There was always a piece missing, there was always something a little bit off. She wasn’t complete, so why should anything around her be? Now she’s got every colour of the spectrum in her crooked wooden drawer and it’s complete and she’s not.
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