Prompt: She looked around quickly, to see if anything had been taken.
Her most prized possession was her record player, although to be fair, her typewriter had saved her life many a time. With a sigh of relief, she noticed everything was still in its place as she walked toward her full length mirror; “I am God’s temple” was written in brown eyeliner at the top corner of the looking glass. She felt a pang of guilt every time that line of scripture caught her attention.
Her room was painted canary yellow from eggshell white, even though her favorite color was turquoise. She didn’t mind the new look so much, she convinced herself it was fitting and sweet and bright. The perfect amount of sunlight bled through her sheer curtains at the peak of daytime, which added warmness to the already cozy aura of the room. She studied her face in the mirror for a while, perhaps to see if the innocence had escaped her eyes. Her olive skin was smooth and sprinkled with freckles and beauty marks. Everyone always remarked about how beautiful she was, from her plump lips to her nice eyebrows (she wasn’t quite sure what qualified eyebrows as “nice”, but she didn’t fight it). Her hair was thick and dark and wildly beautiful, a dead giveaway if anyone ever needed to pick her out of a crowd.
Music and writing her forté. I guess you could say she was good with her hands. The way she played the piano and how she’d pour her soul out through her fingers on the typewriter was just…remarkable, really. She felt most pure creating art. Always a light gleaming in her eyes, it was as if she glowed like a holy hologram.
She came to a halt and stopped analyzing her face. She looked around quickly, to see if anything had been taken. The nightmare was her reality. With both hands cradled over her heart, she whispered in defeat, “my strength”.