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Shattered Glass
Every morning I wake up and get ready for the day. This morning feels vaguely familiar though. I know what's coming. Here is goes again. I'm sitting at my vanity and start getting ready for school. Before I get ready I look in the mirror carefully. I gaze at what I see. The uneven skin color, the scars, and the acne. My oddly shaped, dull eyes and short eyelashes. The bushy eyebrows. My natural rash cheeks. My nose that's a little protruding, covered in freckles. Looking farther down and see the thin, pale lips that cover my stained, crooked teeth. I violently stare at my face, feeling the familiar feeling bubbling inside of me. "What is so beautiful about this face?! It is hideous! I do not see how anyone can look at it." My blood starts to boil at how much I hate what I see. I lose control and grab my hairbrush. With all my strength, I throw it at that disgusting monstrosity staring at me in the mirror. Shattered. My mirror starts chipping off, bit by bit. I look again and through my watery, blurry vision I see what is left of my face still on the mirror. Shattered. I burst into sobs as I look at the damage. I get up still shaking and grab what is left of the mirror. I open up my closet and add it to the rest of the shattered mirrors. I swipe off the shards of glass from my arms and hands as they make small scratches. I look over to the other side of my closet and grab a mirror that looks similar to the rest. Walking back to my vanity, I try to compose myself. I put the new mirror exactly where the other ones used to be and I wipe away my tears. I look down and see some bits of glass left behind and all the makeup. I get to work painting my face, at least making it look presentable. Once I am done I look into the mirror and say, "There, now I look exceptionally pretty."
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