100th Post: Most Epic of Instances

She searched for the lipstick hidden among the little things in her drawer. This is the worst time to be ugly, the last thing she needed was a good-for-nothing self-esteem. When at last she found it, she picked up her coat and suitcase. Her sneakers wouldn't do any good but she had no choice. The lipstick will make up for that. 

 

She went outside the gloomy, cold afternoon, the sun is about to set. Through these bouts of desperation, she wanted nothing but a clue as to where this might lead her. The wind in her unkempt hair will not blow the apprehension away, she knows. Every muscle, every nerve in her body is tensed. Her hands are trembling and the cold breeze is not helping. But she will persist. Superheroes are a thing of the past, there are no more of that. She had to do this on her own or else she never will. And with the lipstick as her cape, she took the first step to an endless road of maybe's. 

 

It's almost nauseating at first, knowing the consequences and not knowing at all. With tears in her eyes, she thought, as she has always known, freedom is painful. It's a stabbing pain. It rips you into pieces and drowns you in a pool of despair. Today she stabbed herself. She can turn around, forget all this, and go back to her safety, cured and bandaged. But she will not, because as freedom drains all certainty, it will come with it what's left of the desperation. She will not miss this for the world, this celebration, this most of epic of instances.