My short story titled “Reflection”

short story, writing

Peering into the mirror as she removed her makeup, she knew she was doing what she was born to do. Even if she had to do it in the wrong body.
Only moments ago she was dancing under pulsating lights and heaving music. She strut her sparkly self down the stage, feeling invincible in towering platforms. She shimmied and shook her body for patrons and the money rained down on her like blessings from above.
She felt empowered and sexy.
Even now, as she wiped lipstick from her mouth, and rouge from her cheeks, she was high, high on something so much more powerful than drugs. The bare light bulbs that circled her vanity mirror cast her in an angelic glow and she ran a finger lightly down her chin, grinning a little as stubble prickled under her touch.
The makeup transformed her so that her outside would match her inside. She felt no less sexy, no less beautiful with a bare face. She still loved her thick brows and her five o’clock shadow as much as she loved her full lips and exaggerated eyes. It was all relative.
She pulled the blonde wig from her head, shaking it out and then tossing it on the wig stand. Running her fingers through her cropped hair she let out a sigh and began pulling her fishnets off. She always felt a little hollow as she peeled off the layers of her costume. It was a little like undressing in front of a stranger, it felt risky and private.
When she was done, and dressed in jeans and a baggy t-shirt and sneakers, she stood from her vanity, pushing in the chair. She gave herself one last glance in the mirror before she switched the lights off. She knew she would be back again, next Tuesday, but it felt like years. She craved the stage, the attention, but most of all, she craved the acceptance.
People at the club didn’t care about what she looked like, they cared about who she was. And she was herself. And that was enough.