"The Bitch is Back"

And then, quite suddenly, she leaped from her seat and stepped into the bathroom.  Heels, balls, toes hit carpet, linoleum, carpet.  The light flickered eerily when she flipped the switch.  Palms on the edge of the sink, skin changing colors with the pressure against the fake porcelain:  red, white, pink, purple.  She glares at herself, but she sees someone else looking back.  A hand, like her own, reaches into her makeup bag, comes back holding a pot of pure black.  The cap lands on the counter, tap, tap, tap, tap, and then swivels and settles on its back.  Fingertips smear the blackness on her eyelids, above and below, the whites of her eyes stark against.  Her jaw is set.  Her hand comes down.  Lights out.  It's time.