Just because people have a romanticized version of prom, doesn’t mean that it isn’t magical.
It was six o’clock in the evening. I stood in my room while I got dolled up.
I dashed over to the mirror that hung on my bedroom wall above my ivory dresser. I smiled as soon as I saw myself. My long curly locks had just been re-bleached to a fabulous shade of platinum blonde. I moved my arms in front of the mirror as my eyes dropped down to my black nail polish on my fingernails. I then moved my hands to my dress to make sure everything was fine. Call it OCD, or anxiety, but I would be damned if I had a wardrobe malfunction. My eyes held a gaze with the mirror. The dress was fine. It was a black strapless dress. I liked it the second that I saw it at the local boutique shop on Main Street. My mother hated it. I suppose she thought that it was too morbid – not that I cared.
I licked my lips a little the minute they were stained in a black color. The black lipstick was a perfect match for my black dress. The gothic undertone to my prom style was marvelous. I was just drawn to darkness… Continue reading