Vanity Fair


Her eye snags on her reflection

Flitting insubstantial across the bus window

And her subconscious reaches out at once before she can help it

To tenderly smooth away those skin-deep snarls

Into photoshopped perfection


She starts at how her hands seem to shadow her thoughts

Reaching up, clockwork, to brush at those flyway strands

And she hastily places them back in her lap

Ignoring the flush staining her cheeks

As unbidden thoughts of svelte cellulose flawlessness crowd against her conscience


And in that instant echoes skim outwards

Ghosts of countless repeated actions

(Almost)natural reflexes of passengers before her

Around her…after her

Lighting subtle glows of recognition that glint in the eyes of commuters who caught a glimpse

And understood


Unaware, the others send strange looks in her direction

Weird, they think.

Then forget that brief lull

her fading away into the weary after-work backdrop –

That unwittingly broke the calm surface of the glossed, sedated society.


A/N: Perhaps I should stop my imagination from running wild on bus rides home…Anyway, could you lovely readers suggest another title for this? I thought "Vanity Fair" didn't really suit it. Review please?:)