Alanis [In Progress!]

Maturity: Nothing extreme; possibly some non-detailed kissing.
Fantasy: None.

Please let me know what you think! All constructive criticism is welcome.

Alanis

I watch pieces of my hair fall into the sink, and I smile wryly.
So this is the mark I end up making here. Leaving most of my hair in the sink.
I chop off a final piece, then run my hands through my new haircut before lifting my head and seeing the new me in the mirror for the first time.
The new pixie cut I've given myself is a startling difference to the long chocolatey brown curls I sported before. I'm astounded that I actually did it for a moment before I watch my reflection smile at me. The new hair looks good on me.
This is just another step in the process for me. Step one was making the decision to leave Dublin and go to New York. The last step will be boarding the plane and watching my beloved Ireland disappear behind the clouds.
I'm going to miss this place. The softly rolling, always green landscape; the soothing, comforting rain; the subtle smell and feel of home. My home.
But I need to do this. I want to do this. I can only make it in the music business if I get noticed by someone important, and all those people live in New York City.
My parents have no knowledge. I feel a pang of guilt run its course throughout my stomach and my heart as I remember this, but I wait for it to pass calmly. This isn't the first time I've felt guilty over what I'm going to do to them. I am leaving them a note, after all, and they have always told me to chase what I want. And I want this. So badly.
I dream of my and my guitar's face sharing the cover of a CD, my name printed on concert tickets. People asking me for my autograph, asking for pictures with me. People humming my music as they walk down the street, singing it shamelessly in the shower. People lining up on the sidewalk to get into the venue I'm playing, flaunting their tickets to their friends. I want it all.
I put the scissors back onto their shelf above the toilet, take one last glance at the new me, then slip out of the bathroom. I walk through the kitchen, taking it all in once more. The welcoming white cupboards, the pale yellow curtains that frame the window over the sink, the little round table that my dad used to chase me around. We called it Table Tag, and it was my favorite game.
I close my eyes, breathe in the scent of my house one last time, then cross the room to the front door, where my bag and guitar, safely enclosed in its sticker-covered case, await me. I toss the bag over my shoulder, lift the guitar case, open the door, and I'm gone.
The gravel of the driveway crunches softly under my feet, still damp from the morning's soft drizzle. I continue down the road, the sun rising behind me. I watch my shadow grow on the pavement in front of me, and realize this is exactly what I'm doing this for. I'm going to get bigger in New York.
After a few miles, I arrive right on time at the airport. I've planned this well. I put my bag onto the conveyor belt and watch it disappear into the abyss that will take it onto the plane. I have my guitar case serve as my carry-on, and board the plane that will take me to my dream.

Hmm. . . pretty good.

Oooh. I like this one.

I agree with Keri!! I can't wait to find out what happens!