Joan let the kitchen door slam shut behind her as she headed up the driveway towards the street. Joan looked up and down the street quickly when she got to the end of the driveway.
"It figures." She hissed to herself. "I know you can hear me." Joan said, speaking up louder. "So come out here and explain just what the hell that was all about."
Nothing happened. Joan looked around the street one more time and as she was turning to go back into the house, saw a bit of black coat go around the corner of another house. Joan took off after it all the while grumbling about a purple haired deity and his mission in life to drive her crazy.
She saw the figure move onto a side street and broke into a jog. About half way down the street Joan managed to hook her hand around his arm at the elbow and turn him around.
"You have a lot of explaining to do." She growled, looking at… someone who wasn't God.
The guy looked at her and asked what her problem was.
"Sorry. I thought you were someone else." Joan blushed and let him go.
"That's okay." The guy replied "I think I feel sorry for the person you're looking for, you look kinda mad."
"I'm sorry again."
"It's alright. Good luck finding who you're looking for." The guy said and left.
Joan came back to the house and cleaned up the kitchen, throwing the towels in the washer to get the dye out. She went upstairs after they were dry to put them away and when passing in front of the mirror, noticed something on her face, a mark of some sort. Joan set the towels on the sink counter and looked closer.
There were three dark but faint stains on her face, one on her cheek and the other two on her mouth, upper and lower lip. Both were in the shape of a mouth and Joan knew what they were immediately.
Lip stick stains and he had left them on her.
Joan grabbed the wash cloth and ran some warm water in the sink, getting the cloth wet and added some soap. When it was nice and foamy, Joan scrubbed at her cheek and mouth. The make up came off her lips but no matter how hard she scrubbed at her cheek, the stain wouldn't leave. It faded to a lighter color but wouldn't leave.
The wash cloth hit the sink with a wet slap and Joan stared at the mark. It would be easy to cover up; right now it just looked like a small pale shadow that followed the curve of her check bone, a little foundation and powder and hey no more mark! Joan washed out the cloth, put up the towels and went into her room, flopping down on her bed, wondering what the mark meant.
A/N: I know it's short but it's better then nothing. I wanna call the mark "The Mark of God", but cooler, maybe in another language? Or maybe something different.