The lie

Its crimson beauty gleamed in the light, deepening into its desires. It pierces through her broken skin, deepening its pain every attempt. Its soft beaming colours texture her rough complexion. She looks to the mirror and sees what she has done. 1

She looks to see the girl standing there, here silken hair and her bright blue eyes. She wants to see a happy girl there, but she died long ago. Now all she has is a colour, surrounding her entire life. Consuming all of her thoughts and nothing to live for, only spite. 2

The rouge beautiful selection twist through her elegant fingers, she feels the smoothness from the hard glass bottles. She wants to touch the beautiful colour inside, to paint a new life for herself, to paint a new her. 3

Red spots shower the carpet and a knife blade lies on the dresser draw. Her eyes are streaming with tears and pain erupts from her heart. Smeared blood stretches itself across the shining mirror and as she turns to clean up this "mess" a long loud creak is heard coming from the mahogany door. 4

Startled with fright she hasn't the time to clear the state. She cannot remove the stains from her room; she cannot reach for an escape. She must think fast on her feet. "Think" she tells herself, "Think or you'll have to come clean." And then there before her was the answer, locked in a tiny bottle. 5

It sat there pleasantly in its own world taking in all of her secrets and never to tell a soul. No one would tell the difference if she acted quickly enough. She could unscrew its slender black top and release the rippling rouge liquid to pour onto her draws. 6

She took the brush to her crinkled nails and scruffily plastered it across her nail. As she did this cunning plan, which she had devised herself, from a box she grabbed a handful of tissues and turned around, to beckon in the person entering her domain. 7

The door opened with a loud echoing creak, as though making everyone aware that someone had entered. Her mother slid round and a terrifying look swarmed across her once beaming face. Her lips opened and closed as though impersonating a fish. Eventually she said, 8

"Claire.... What on earth have you done to yourself sweetheart?" 9

She thinks carefully of how to display her words, 10

"*Laughs* Oh mum it's not what you think it is just red nail-varnish." She presents her fingers with glee and smiles as though nothing is wrong. 11

Her mum gives a sigh of relief and smiles sweetly back to her beloved daughter, "Just checking you are ok love. Make sure you clean up that mess it will be murder to get out otherwise." She blows a kiss and gently and closes the heavy door. 12

She makes a sigh of relief. As she turns to the mirror her eyes turn to a colour of which no varnish could ever represent. She looks up to the mirror and a sly smile crosses her thin-pursed lips and as she stares, she sees a rope hanging from the iron bar raised above the door. 13

Her eyes slowly move down from the rope to a figure, lifeless and drab. Her younger sister lies no words erupt from her opened mouth. Its crimson beauty gleamed in the light, deepening into its desires. Blood runs down her pale white body, which lies limp and broken. Her neck twisted and snapped. 14

For tonight was like no other night. Tonight Claire had killed her little sister and left her hanging behind the door. Red varnish was her secret. Red varnish was her cure. It would never tell anyone her secret, because she had stopped the only person who could.15