Guest Posted December 17, 2010 Share Posted December 17, 2010 OOC: From the Ghost of Christmas Future. Mirtel Christabel was a good girl. Even too good of a girl. She didn’t smoke, didn’t drink excessively, didn’t party in nightclubs till early morning, didn't have flings, she never even crossed the street with a red light. She was a good girl, which really was just another way to say that she was boring. She didn’t even need a ghost of Christmas future to show her what would become of her in the future, she knew that anyway. She’d become a bitter spinster with pinched lips, adopt an orange tabby and become the neighbourhoods crazy cat lady like Mrs. Pierce down the street was. Well, Mirtel Christabel wasn’t having it anymore. Nodding resolutely to herself through her bathroom mirror she turned on her heel and went straight to her wardrobe. She had a silvery tube-top that had been sent to her when the catalogue from where she had wanted to order a turquoise pullover from had somehow mixed up her order. Mirtel didn’t have it in her to deal with all the fuss of sending the top back, so she had shoved it in the back of her wardrobe and forgotten about it. Now she pulled the top out from her closet and tossed in on her bed. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a bag of old clothes that had been used for the play her class had put on at the end of last year and with a sudden flash of inspiration dug out a pink wig with some silver thread in it from the bag. She also pulled out a black denim skirt with white accents. She had never felt comfortable wearing the knee-length skirt because of how snug it sat around her hips but it was just the thing for a good girl gone bad. Except for the length. Frowning Mirtel took the skirt to her sewing table and quickly pinned down a line at where she thought the line between decent and indecent went and then before she could loose her courage and talk herself out of it boldly cut the fabric off 5 cm’s above it so that the skirt rested high on her thighs. It was a matter of minutes to hem the skirt with her electrical sewing machine. Her makeup was modest, just some mascara and grey eye-shadow and a touch of lipstick was all she needed before settling the pink wig over her own mahogany hair. She topped the outfit with kneehigh black boots with a low heel and a thick winter jacket with fur adorning the collars and cuffs and deemed herself ready; although her short nails remained virginally untouched and the silver heartshaped locket with pearls, an antique heirloom from a grandmother in the 17th century, that rested at the hollow of her throat would be completely unsuitable for where she was going. Hurrying through her house to the garage, Mirtel hit the button to open the electrical garage door and backed her sensible grey Opel out onto the street. They had shown a clip of illegal midnight races held in the city and Mirtel had recognised the location where it happened and that's where she'd be going tonight. Tonight she would celebrate Christmas by leaving behind her old boring self and rejoicing with the new, daring and fun self. Strictly sticking to the speed-limit Mirtel drove through the dark city, singing along to the Christmas Carols coming from the radio and admiring the twinkling lights of decorations. Parking her car about a block from where she knew the races would be held, Mirtel climbed out and walked the rest of the way. It didn't take long until she caught sight of flashy cars and loud music. Yes, this was the life she had been dreaming of, life on the edge. Mirtel Christabel didn’t know much about cars and knew even less about racing, but she was happy to listen to the conversations around her and smile happily at the men discussing the benefits of one booster against another. She held a can of beer that someone had pushed into her hand but didn’t drink because she didn’t believe in driving when drunk and she had driven here. Offering a tiny comment every now and then Mirtel Christabel beamed at a heavily tattooed man with a tongue and eyebrow ring who others seemed to respect and primly thanked him when he called her a doll. For some reason Mirtel Christabel didn’t quite understand this response made the man laugh. The man decied that she would be the one to open the first race of the night and tucked the white unusud handkerchief that would be used for that purpose into her decoltée. Happy to be entrusted with this privilege Mirtel Christabel headed to where four cars were already parked at the start line. Slowly passing by the front of the line Mirtel Christabel gently trailed her fingertips down the hood of each car. Yellow, green with silver stripes, red with black accents and purple. She guessed they were all good cars and so smiled again as she took in the position at the center where all the drivers could see her. Would the handsome winner of the race later push her against the hood of his car and give her a sweet lingering kiss? That’s what always happened in the movies. That would never happen to the boring third grade teacher that she had been so far, but from now on Mirtel Christabel would be a different woman. Smiling at the thought of this Mirtel raised her hand to pull out the handkerchief from her decoltée. For a moment she stood still as the motors of the cars roared and then let the handkerchief fall. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
This topic is now archived and is closed to further replies.