A/N: This is set in a world that's somewhat futuristic, basically the extreme of the bourgeois modern society. Just a collection of drabbles to fill the time between poems and longer fiction…which I'm still working on. Just had competition stuff to do so I can't post them right now.
Drabble 1: Hair-tie
Tying her hair back wasn't anything special. As long as she raked up sales, her boss didn't really care what state her tumbling brown locks were in. He was married after all, with two children. That didn't stop him, however, from looking at his entire female staff. Marriage wasn't a whole lot more than a teenage novelty or a simple status ring. She remembered being eleven and marrying her boyfriend in the backyard. If she crossed paths with him now, she probably wouldn't notice him, let alone recognise him.
It wasn't anything special. Neither was she. She had always longed to be, but through the years that desire had become rusted. The world that had been thrilling as a child hadn't turned out to be that big at all. She knocked on the same doors each day, looking the same save for subtleties that few cared to notice, saying the same words, selling the same products…again with a few minor adjustments. Perhaps the cosmetic retail line had reached the peak of its potential with the rest of the world.
She always went as the picture of a doll; the make-up on her face was an important part of her sales pitches after all. She didn't know if people continued to buy the products she sold because it provided a brief glimmer in their progressively dull lives, or to be rid of her monotonous company (because saying the same lines scores of times a day really did turn her voice into a monotone). She didn't care for a reason either.
The only reason she brought hair-ties at all was so she could keep her hair out of her face as she applied her make-up. It ruined the image otherwise, but her hair somehow managed to knot itself around the cheap elastic and the consequence was, many a time, either having to re-comb it or retie it in a neater fashion. Neither were really worth the effort; she'd get the brown mop cut if it wasn't for the amount of money they demanded in return. And it was even more troublesome attempting to cut it herself. She'd be better off with the other options.
Twisting the glittering lips into a scowl, she tried once again to pry the hair-tie out of her hair. She didn't spare a wince as several strands snapped before she finally managed to withdraw a dangling piece of string that once held some closure and elasticity.
She looked at it for a brief moment before throwing it carelessly into the depth of the rubbish bin under the table and reaching into the round plastic container for a new one. When the tips of her searching fingers, sparkling with nail polish, touched coldness, she withdrew them with a bored ease and picked up her comb instead.
A few strokes and a jingling of keys later, she was out of the door, brown hair flying behind her without a second glance, save the strands that had fallen or been pulled out, joining either the empty container on the dressing table or the broken hair-tie in the bin.