DeviatArt Premium Early Access folder for subscribers here. Every bit of support is truly appreciated, but just having you here means the most to me - without you, none of this would have been possible. Thank you very much!
Check also my shop at DeviantArt for other works
The car smelled of cheap air freshener that barely masked the scent of gasoline and damp upholstery. Sitting in the driver’s seat, Bethany stared into the reflection in the tiny visor mirror, her expression a mix of confusion and disgust. A youthful face with heavily lined eyes and fake lashes stared back at her. Green eyeshadow glimmered awkwardly in the dim light coming through the window. Her reddish hair was tied into a neat bun, and a thin gold necklace with tiny hearts on each link glinted on her neck.
She dropped her hands to the wheel, her long, bright-pink acrylic nails nervously tapping against it. A clatter of cheap bracelets jingled on her other wrist with every movement. Blinking, she ran her tongue across her teeth, which felt unnaturally smooth and straight, and winced. “This is some kind of fucking dream,” flitted through her mind. At that moment, the radio crackled to life with the enthusiastic voice of a DJ:
“Hey-hey, it’s Ricky Jazz again!” (a rock-and-roll guitar riff played) “And back to our top story—there’s an asteroid heading this way, people are freaking out, but NASA insists it’s all fine. Personally, I say let it come! I’ll ask it to subscribe to our channel and maybe enjoy some real music! Up next: a classic! AC/DC’s Highway to Hell!”
— Yeah, Highway to Hell, just perfect, — Bethany muttered, but her voice came out unnaturally high-pitched and sharp. It only made her irritation worse. Her small hand lashed out to turn the volume knob, but her long nails scraped against the stereo’s plastic with a brittle crack. She winced at the sharp pain in her fingers, her frustration building. Those damn claws! The nails skittered across the knob like ice, refusing to grip properly.
Giving up with a huff, she reached for the pack of cigarettes on the passenger seat, bought just ten minutes earlier at a tiny roadside store. She fumbled to pull one out with what she called in her head these "damn pink shovels." Lighting it with the cheap lighter wasn’t any easier—the nails kept snagging on the metal. After several awkward clicks, she finally managed to get the cigarette lit.
The first inhale ended in a violent fit of coughing that doubled her over.
— Goddammit! — she gasped, gripping the steering wheel for support. Her lungs felt like they were collapsing in on themselves, and each hacking cough made her chest, too heavy and too foreign, jiggle uncomfortably, reminding her of its unwelcome presence...