Each tap of my knuckles against the flimsy wooden door sent a sharp pain through my ears and into my head. At last, the door creaked open. I could see my mother’s, now old and wrinkled, face looking me up and down for a moment. She then opened the door, standing completely still in the middle of the doorway, just staring at me. Her jaw had dropped to the floor and her frazzled hair practically stood on end. The brown color of the caked filth on the coffee mug she held perfectly matched the inumeral amount of stains on her ripped t-shirt and shorts. She was a mess, and the shock of my arrival certainly did not help.
“What the hell are you wearing?” was the first thing she said when she finally regained her composure.
I peered down at my black dress with the silver studs, the black fishnet i wore on my arms and legs, my array of spiked and black bracelets, and, ofcourse, my black combat boots. I would have chosen something else if anythign different had been in my closet.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”