I said that mirrors were the worst things for little girls just because they would stand there naked and mark progress and pinch at pink tits calculatingly, but after a certain point it became clear that of course everything came in leaps and bounds at that age and illusory borders were pointless and that there was nothing we could do.
In the tones of someone who thinks that anyone worthy of elegance is from england she performed a strident musical number for an audience with flat wine-flavored mouths. Precarious sparkle shoes drawing eyes, these burlesque appearances were applauded even before she had learned the practical advantages of a little good showmanship.
During day-time regulations as a militant grammarian she sneered at run-on sentences and scribbled them with pencil condescension, and never faltered, told herself that she would break hearts and that she would be beautiful. With a wild sort of enthusiasm that left the rest of them clutched with breathless laughter she launched herself at the sun and began practically attacking the problem of time.
Margaret Wack has had her work previously published in Eclectica, Liminality, and Strange Horizons, among others. More can be found at https://margaretwack.com/.