Welcome to Prompt Wars. A selection of drabbles done by a prompts from friends. Do enjoy! Feedback is always welcome!
Every time you paint your nails, you change
I've noticed her since our first day of school. Her, with her bright smile and hair like starlight. She was ethereal and moved as if she let the wind take her wherever it wanted to carry her. Naturally, her good cheer and friendliness made her popular, and quickly, maybe even as popular as the resident idol in our school, though her name escapes me. The only name I seemed to be able to remember was hers, Xingchen. I never approached her, us being in different classes, but I always seemed to notice her, wherever she may be. Maybe it's because she's everything I wanted to be. She was smart, athletic, likable, able to insert herself into any group of people and make friends with them, as if talking and social interaction was her sole reason for existing. She was as bright as a star, and sometimes I found her too harsh to look at. She was perfect, and it filled me with a sense of bitterness. It must be nice to be perfect, to live perfectly.
It wasn't until our third year that I got to be in the same class as her. She was still dazzling, still hard to look at, but I found myself falling into the easy rhythm of her friendship. I found out that we live close to each other, and we found ourselves walking to school every morning, side by side. I'd sip coffee out of my thermos as she talked animatedly, hands punctuating her sentences. That's when I noticed it, the color of her nails. They were a sunflower yellow, glimmering and glossy, not a spot or spec across the smooth surface. The color suited her personality, I thought to myself, and let my mind be pulled back into the one-sided conversation at hand.
It was a routine I let myself fall into, as it was easy to. We'd walk to school together, eat together at lunch, wait for each other after club activities, and then we'd walk home together. The more I got to know her, the more I noticed the little things, her quirks. She talked with her hands, those perfectly painted nails catching the light just so. She liked pop music and had a special love for disney movies. Theatre was her passion, and she liked to recite her lines under her breath when she thought no one was looking. The thing I noticed the most about her though, was her nails. They were always so perfect, and when she talked I always saw them, and that's when I noticed that she changed the color everyday. Curiosity got the better of me one day as we hung out at her house, me sprawled across her plush bed, her sitting on a throne of plush pillows. I watched her carefully remove the day's nail polish, place a moisturizer on her fingernails, her glossed lips carrying the soft tune of some pop song I don't know the name of as she picked her nail polish for the next day. I rested my chin in the palm of my hand, pushing unruly strands of red, red hair out of my eyes.
"Why do you change your nail polish everyday?"
My question hung in the air, and her eyes like golden embers lifted up from her extensive collection of colors to meet my red ones. They were filled with curiosity and surprise. Having her attention, I swallowed my nerves and continued. "I mean, you obviously work hard to make them perfect or whatever, and you do this every night. Why not just keep them one color?"
She hummed, tapping her chin thoughtfully, her silky starlight tresses swaying, moving as easily as water. The thought of running my fingers through those locks, to see if it was as soft as it looked crossed my mind for just a moment before I pushed it away. No need to think about that.
Finally, she answered, small, delicate shoulders shrugging, rubbing the lotion into her fingertips with practiced ease.
"It's a silly reason, really" she answers with a soft giggle. It felt off, and I resisted the urge to frown. That wasn't a sound that sounded genuine, and she was always genuine... right? "It all depends on how I feel in the morning. I'll pick one color tonight, but it might end up being a different color in the morning, depending on how I'm feeling. I like to think that my colors reflect my mood. It's silly, I know, but it's...therapeutic in a way."
I studied her form, trying to unravel her secrets, dig into those cracks that she revealed. She was always so happy, brimming with unbridled joy and a love for life. Of course she had secrets, and I was too disillusioned by the brightness she exuded to notice. I wondered what things she hid from the world, tucked away, locked in her heart so no one could see it.
As if sensing my thoughts, she grinned brightly and scooted closer towards her bed, taking my free hand in hers.
"Miki-chan, let me paint your nails! Please?" Her eyes were wide and imploring, the same puppy dog look my sister used to sucker some poor soul (mainly me) to do her bidding, and, as expected, I easily crumbled. The next day, I went to school with expertly painted sea green nails, hers a soft baby blue. I tried not to think of the implication behind the blue.
The year progressed, and as the days got colder, I noticed her nails get darker in hues. She still wore a smile, as blinding as the sun, though it lacked the familiar warmth it used to have. We stopped hanging out at her house, started hanging out more at mine. She stopped wearing short sleeves, which wouldn't seem so weird, considering the temperature shift, but it was strange for her. She never did like long sleeves. I never asked, even if I should have, but it wasn't my place, and I hated bringing things up that made her unhappy. She was the sun, she was supposed to be bright and warm, she didn't deserve to be eclipsed by the coldness of the moon. It seemed like I was the only one who noticed the shift, as everyone else around her treated her the same as always. It was probably because she responded in the same way, but I could tell.
When her nails began to be navy blue, I didn't ask.
When they were black, I didn't ask.
When they were bare, I didn't ask.
The light in her eyes was dimming, day by day, week by week, month by month, and still, I didn't ask, but I worried. We stopped hanging out after school, she stopped theatre, and she seemed to draw into herself. Every time I thought to ask, there was a lump in my throat, and as if sensing my questions, she'd make a hurried excuse, and she'd leave. I didn't like to think about the implications. Something was wrong, but I didn't know what to do. How was I supposed to help someone who obviously didn't want to be helped? Maybe if I had more of a backbone, I'd be able to do it, but I've always been pathetic compared to her. Always.
The week leading up to graduation, she showed up at my doorstep, a single bottle of nailpolish in her hands, and a tote with clothes and toiletries. I didn't ask, and I let her in. We settled into my room laying side by side on my bed, shoulders brushing. I willed my heart to quiet as we laid in silence, afraid that she might hear it. Now wasn't the time.
"Hey Miki-chan?"
Her voice was so soft, lost almost, and my fingers twitched. I wanted to hold her hand, give her comfort, but I didn't, I didn't have the guts to.
"Mm?"
"I wonder what it would be like to be a star, up in the sky I mean."
"It would be lonely. Those stars are far apart from each other, you'd have no one to talk to." My heart thundered, dread pooling into my stomach as she let out a huff of laughter. It didn't sound right, none of this is right.
"Yeah... I would have a hard time for sure" she replied wistfully. "Maybe I'll be a bird then. I like birds." Her fingers brushed against my hand, and I turned it, letting her lace her fingers with mine and squeeze. I applied the same pressure, and I heard her breathe in sharply, breath hitched, as if she was near tears. The question was on the tip of my tongue, well, questions, but I dared not ask her. She couldn't cry, shouldn't cry, not someone like her.
"I'll be sure to keep a bird feeder then" I murmured, trying to joke, and this time I heard her giggle, the first peal of laughter I've heard from her in ages. That laughter was something I've missed, more than I'd care to admit.
"Thanks" she chuckled, and suddenly sat up, looking at me with a soft smile. "Miki-chan, can you paint my nails for me?"
"I mean, yeah I could, but they'll come out super shitty" was my response, blunt and quick, and I resisted the urge to slap myself in the face. She giggled, amused. I guess making a fool of myself was okay, just for her.
"That's okay. I'll help you fix them."
With her reassurance we rose, and she took out her nail polish. It was a glossy red, as bright as my hair, which she knew, considering the smile on her lips. I didn't ask why she chose that color, even if it made my heart constrict with worry. I took her fingers, one at time, in my hands, and worked diligently, quietly, trying not to mess up as her fingers slowly went from pale to brilliant crimson.
She wore the color proudly on her nails, and never once did she change them. I wondered if she'd keep that color at graduation, display it proudly for the world to see as she got her diploma.
Xingchen did indeed wear the color, but not to graduation. She wore it in death, when the police found her lifeless form, locked away in her bathroom. There was speculation, as to what happened, but I didn't listen, couldn't listen. She was dead, and the truth began to be unearthed. Her parents divorce, the tyranny she lived underneath her mother, the abuse, the neglect, the murder. It came up on the news, and I couldn't look away as they reported the drowning, the trial date, the confession. I couldn't breathe, couldn't feel, even as my family surrounded me with comfort. She was gone, and I did nothing to help her. Never asked, never reported. If only, if only, if only-
But there was no if only. I had to remind myself of this. He always said that sometimes things happen and there's no way we could control it. She must have suffered for a long time and never let anyone know. She didn't want anyone to know, as if she had accepted that one day, she was going to die. I didn't like it, hated the thought, but I understood, and on the day of her funeral, I wore nail polish the color of starlight in her honor.
And every day after that, I changed the color, one nail always silver, the others reflecting my mood. It was a small tribute, but I would do this, for the girl that changed with every color she wore.