Yeah So This Wasnt A Writing Prompt But Ive Had This Scene In My Head For Forever - Tumblr Posts
💦 with Glee please!
„Does your OC have any self destructive habits? Addictions? Urges? What is the cause of these or the reason for them?“
The nerve, to pick the one OC I don't drown in Angst and Misery! (That's a lie, but she handles herself very well, usually.) Anyway, the cause is: Dysphoria! So Beware! Glee hasn't managed to find any of her siblings, and she's not taking it well.
Picture a cramped, small, green lit fresher. There she stood, in front of the mirror.
For Glee, right now, it was almost agony. Look at her, the lone clone. Ungrateful, stupid, helpless in her fate. Useless to everyone else, and even now, after half a year, (which is still a LOT of time for someone only turning 16), chained. Controlled, in a sense. Subdued, toothless, waste of space and oxygen.
Her dark eyes (her brothers eyes) blinked, stoic. But the eyes looking back at her had a far off, dull look to them. Her brows, (Spindels brows), furrowed, her lips, (Hecters lips), pulled down into a scowl. (Ellis) ears, almost hidden by her hair, which curled over them, caressing them. With a trembling hand, she pulled it back. Her curls had had the time to grow out now, they were the longest they had ever been -
Mezzos tears. Glee hadn't seen herself cry before. Because usually, she wasn't selfish, she wasn't greedy; to even have the nerve to change the one thing that they all had in common? When she had lost them all? She deserved the ugly, disgusting, terrifying loneliness of seeing her brothers in the mirror.
(If they don't have personhood, then neither have I.)
She couldn't see herself, never had, and If she failed (because she couldn't think about When), she had never deserved to. She would either see them live, or die as them.
She grabbed a pair of scissors, pulled her hair tight, and cut it as close to the roots as she could. The blades scraped her scalp. Chunks of hair fell, blinded by tears and by an unsteady hand.
Heaving for breath, she looked at her (my, his, theirs, our) face. Her efforts had unearthed the large, ugly bald scar along the right side of her head.
At last, a surface level prove of freedom.