This is a short story I just wrote. I’ve had this image in my head for about a week and it’s been driving me bananas. I’ve finally sat down and put the whole thing into words. It’s by no means finished, but it’s a good start.
Her white chiffon skirt laid perfectly pleated, pleasantly flowy, and properly pressed. It was what she had imagine she’d wear everyday like those cartoon characters that seemed to wear the same outfit for the rest of their lives. Her closet would be full of those perfect white skirts, which she would partner with pretty peasant white tops of which she’d precisely tuck underneath her flowy skirt. She’d be the mirror of perfection. Yet there it lay, looking perfectly pleated, pleasantly flowy, and properly pressed and she could not stand to look at it.
As she continued to looked away, unable to bring herself to look at her perfect white skirt she caught sight of a rounded jar of bright red glitter. it was vivacious, vibrant, and versatile. It was everything she’d imagine she’d be. Not perfectly precious, pure, or pressed. And before she could stop herself, in one swift move, without much thought, she grabbed the jar of glitter. She stood in front of her perfect white skirt, unwavering, and poured the vivacious, vibrant, and versatile glitter on her now incredibly beautiful no longer perfectly white skirt.
As she stood there with the now empty jar of glitter in one hand, she felt triumphant. “This… this is exactly what I am and entirely what I need” she thought.