Relief. Short Fiction from Megan Carlson
It started with a sticky note on my bathroom mirror. A simple list. I kept forgetting to take off my makeup at the end of the night. Then, in the morning, I would notice a foundation smudge on my pillow or feel the crusty residue of eyeliner in the corner of my eyes. Before I’d even gotten out of bed, I’d mumble, “idiot,” at myself and swear I would remember that night.
I didn’t want to start the day with that kind of negativity, so I scrawled in black sharpie: