Hannah exhaled sharply as she walked on through dreary in her white extreme heels at nineteen minutes past midnight. She had had a not a good day, and had left the party in a bad mood. She wiped her brow, brushing her dyed black fringe. She slipped her hand into the beige leather handbag and pulled out her mirror.
She was not beautiful in the least; she may have looked more attractive if she had not fallen in to the makeup trap. Her hair approximately 68% extensions: it also was straightened and curled and dyed an unrealistic shade of back. Her eyelashes were so long I might have strapped her to my car bonnet and used her as a windscreen wiper. Her lips were a sour metallic pink, and her limbs coated in streaky fake tan. (At least that method didn’t give you sunburn, she would say).
Hannah pursed and pouted her lips before dropping it in her bag. Her ridiculous reflection was gone to reveal a middle aged woman at the bus stop, wellies in a gown of mud.
‘Can ya move please?’ Hannah said in an extremely rude tone.
She did not want to say so.
The woman turned around and pounced on her, revealing extended and inconveniently pointed teeth.
Hannah kicked and screamed, but it was no use. She died with 10 seconds.