“Forty seven…..forty eight….forty nine…..fifty!” Jessie slams the brush on the vanity. Her little hands grabs the long coal black locks and binds it into the right ponytail. Dark eyes blink and regulars her reversed image.
“It’s not right! It sits higher on the side of your head than the left. Mommy will make us do it all over again.” The image tells her.
She squints in distance for the voice much like hers. “She said fifty brush strokes on each! I’ll take the backside of the brush to you! Mommy ain’t telling me to do it over any way!”
“Mommy says…” The image gets cut off.
“Mommy don’t say anything any more! You won’t either if you make me mad!” Eyes burning into the mirror show a little more than rage.
“Oh, yeah. Mommy will come to tuck us in. She’ll see your hair. Then you will have to sit there and we will have to go through fifty more brush strokes! You are gonna get us in trouble again!” The image looks much sadder than the girl.
“Shows you what you know! Here ask Mommy for yourself!” Jessie raises the severed head of Mommy.
It’s eyes hollowed, the image starts to cry. “How could you?”