Prologue

            I strut down the room with my head high. I know I look great in this suit; it’s silk, and the jacket and pants are a very pale blue. It’s my uncle’s, I think. Dad kept it in a trunk in the spare room, some old wooden monstrosity. I guess he forgot about it, because I took it weeks ago and he hasn’t said a thing.

            “You look fabulous, Felix,” my brother calls mockingly as he walks past my door on the way to the bathroom. God knows what he’d be doing in there at two o’clock in the morning. But whatever it is, he does it every single night, and he calls out the same thing to me every single time, with the same inflection. I know he’s just jealous, because he’ll never look this good in a suit.

            I reach over to the tub of gel sitting on my dresser and dip my hand in it. It’s practically the only thing sitting on my dresser, apart from a hairbrush that I never use, a comb I use every day, and a few packs of gum. What can I say? I’m a compulsive chewer.

            I work the gel into my hair with all the care of a hairdresser and carefully comb it back. The gel makes my blonde hair look greasy, so I repeat the working and combing. Finally it’s perfect, and I walk to the other side of the room like a model.

            Glancing in the mirror, I smile. I’d look like a businessman in this, if it weren’t for the blue. Instead, I look like the best man at a wedding, because no sane man would wear this to his actual wedding.

            Then again, though I am sane, I’m not a man.

            With a sigh, I run my hand through my hair to mess it up and get it back to normal, though there’s really no point. Because after that, I have to take my wig off. It comes off easily, and long, platinum-blonde hair tumbles out, falling to my waist. My real hair.

            My name is Felicity - at least by day it is. But by night, I’m the stunning to-be male model Felix Carver. Although, when I think about it, there’s really no time when I’m not Felix. He’s more me than the supposed ‘real me’ is. Felicity is just a façade, a personality custom-made to match with my body so that I can go out into the real world and not feel like a freak.

            With a yawn, I glance down at the other clothes spread out on my bed. There’s an army uniform laid out there, but I haven’t touched that yet. I’m not really a fan of war or any kind of violence, really.

            The only wig I have right now is the blonde one. And with my blue eyes and that uniform, I’d look more like a Nazi than not. But I allow myself a little smile anyway. There’s no harm in trying out something like that if nobody’s there to see me, is there?

Reviews

[MissWordSmith]

ah! great writing here! loved the last line... i don't know why but it set me thinking.. it was very metaphorical... like.. dip my toes in the water, check how warm.
very nice! great imagery too.

[Libby McKeown]

Awesome! The best line is the "I'm not a man," and honestly, I would end the prologue there. The rest you could spread out over the course of a book or story, you know, the whole "don't give everything away" thing. . .make us work for it. I have to say that I am thoroughly impressed, and that happens, oh, let's see, NEVER! Great job! Please keep writing!