My Rubber Phillie

The envelope had arrived in my mail, maybe about a week ago. At first, it had been just another officious envelope, before I red the stamped on name, looking like an engraving.

Naturally, I had opened it, and red the short message, encased within the boundaries of the white paper, making up the envelope. The message had been clear, overly clear. In the jargon common to lawyers, obviously. I'm not fluent.

Reading the text in black ink on the off white paper. What it meant, aside from the most obvious? Don't we all hope to inherit something big, something of great value? Something life changing, something to hold on to?

The text spoke on a lost relative, who finally had been confirmed to have passed away. Maybe I'm fortunate, who never had known the old man. He had been missing, since before I was even born. Now, for some reason, he had chosen me in his last will and testament.

He obviously owned a large estate, according to the text I had red. To claim my right, I had to leave everything I had ever known behind. His lawyer was to take me, to where I belong, though I never had seen it.

Looking in the mirror, that one last time, before I left all I had ever known, all I had ever been behind. What little I own, I can take with me, is a bag of clothes. What I saw, is a girl, a teen, barely of legal age, yet, the proud owner, of what I have no idea.

I still recall that he had explained the situation, the will. I had followed him. What he had said, I can't for my life recall. Law isn't my field.

Maybe it is convenient, I had just finished school, I have nothing but this tiny apartment, binding me down, but the lawyer had promised tending to that. Everything it contain, and the legal issues. I'd have no need to care for money, from now on.

What my cares revolved around, can be seen within as mirror. My face, the make-up, my hands and the manicure, my body, and the clothes I cover it with. It's all spelled out in a single word, 'Fashion'.

I see it in the mirror every day, the black hair framing my slender yet effeminate face, the fair skin, a small nose in the middle. Two blue eyes smiling back at me from the other side of the same mirror. They always smile, they never had been convinced otherwise. Red lips, painted with all the care in the world. I had the time, just never seemed to really need it.

Holding the mirror in my left hand, slender, untouched, as if it never had required to be used. Perfect clear nails, on long delicate fingers.

Twisting the mirror, a red top covering my orb-like jigglies, and the somewhat generous nibbles, teasing and promising joys to come. Only requiring a single touch.

Touching, I love touching, so long as what I touch is soft, smooth. Cloths protecting me, from what I had no need of. Covering, yet enhancing what I already knew is there, and what's mine.

I enjoy myself, I enjoy the last moment, the very last instant, before I left the old life behind, the life I had built up with such delicate care. Putting so much effort into, in order to have, what I had never known.

From a perspective you could say I was looking out at the world, with my head poking out neck through the noose? Yet, I'm taking it all. With quite some ease, I might add. Not the life I had expected, not the life I had hoped for, but I had not known who I am, or what I should have expected, now hoping all my efforts are not in vain, or waisted.

Walking out that massive wooden door, wearing but a skirt, a top, and the heels, all in red. That special metallic bloody red, I had designed them all. These are what I had managed to carry with me. Maybe they're still me. They are part of who I am.

I still wear them, in fact. I had arrived at the farm, the day before.