Writing Prompt
Writings
Writings
WRITING OBSTACLE
Convey your character’s personality by describing how they style their uniform.
Whether it is a school or work uniform, show how your character makes it their own.
Writings
I wake up for school and walk over to my bathroom, I quickly brush my teeth and hair. Once I finish curling my hair, I head to my closet. The uniforms have always been boring and plain, so It’s a good thing that they let us mix it up. For my uniform I usually wear the regular skirt, but I sewed black lace to the bottom, and I wear black lace tights, with black and white sneakers. My top is a white blouse with lace. The school sweater is all right but I still decorate it, I use pins of my favorite bands, I wear the cutest black and grey gloves under the sleeves. I add a black beanie on my head with skull clips. People have always said my style matches my mood, as I never smile and am as mysterious as I dress.
As he puts on a shiny, newly polished uniform, that he constructed himself, he sees his glimmering pin. With careful consideration, he takes the shiny pin, which it reminded him of his childhood and all the academic achievements he achieved. With a careful and steady hand, he put the pin through the carefully woven fabric in which he wove himself. The suit was far from perfect, with few imperfections and some parts were slightly uneven. Holes were in the suit—all the mistakes he had made while constructing it. Even with his considerable gentleness, he was not able to wove it perfectly. The process was tedious, but it was the only thing he could do. The glimmering pin shimmered in the light, reflecting his stylish appearance through its shiny and smooth silver. The cloth was stretched out and littered with holes. The pin even looked out of place, as it was slightly curved and not straight. His tie was left slightly curved and his fly was left ajar, and he seemed to not care as he buttoned up the suit. The buttons were more like squares than circles, as he had also had to contract them himself, and it was possibly even more difficult than that of the suit. He grunted trying to fit the buttons through each, irritatingly sensitive hole. He felt like he would never get it, so eventually he stuck a piece of tape to it and called it a day. Since the tape was transparent, it was hardly noticeable besides the fact that the button was clearly not stuck into the hole. Making the holes, he had to carefully string a knife through the suit and keep pressing the buttons through it to see if he could even fit it through it. As he taped the rest of the buttons, his face stretched into a wide, stylish smile. Then he adjusted his collar, which still remained imperfect, and then proceeded to turn around. He was ready.
Twists, turns, and cobblestones directed the alley, weaving in and out of the eyes of busy urban cosmopolitans. He found himself whisked past tea-shops and currency exchanges, pubs and camera stores, football club storefronts and windowsills sporting the latest, imported genuine leather. The maze on the way to the way to Blinkpark Academy’s tailor shop seemed even more difficult to navigate than being accepted to Blinkmark itself.
Finally, he found himself on Christie Circle, just as the instruction-cassette directed him.
918, 920, 922, and then a plain, black door. He shuffled with hesitation down towards the road’s dead end just to confirm what he already suspected. 926, 928, and then a boarded-up storefront. The black door must have been 924.
Before he could knock, the door opened, seemingly by itself, but upon looking down, he saw a wrinkled, whispy haired crone in powedered blue slippers and a black cane.
“First year at Blinkpark?” She said in an almost tortoise-like, low voice.
“Yes, ma’am. I know I was supposed to make an appointment, but I couldn’t find the proper registration form on the school’s website. Is it still—“
“Back to right corner. Take your shoes off, and stand in front of the mirrors.”
…
He was set. One pair of black and blue elastic-band basketball shorts reaching down to his knees. A solid muscle tee undershirt going halfway down his bicep, and his blue SnapBack hat cocked at a corner on his head.
He laced his walking shoes, black and blue with white lightning bolts along the sides.
“I look okay, right? This is it. I can’t believe this is happening. I’m going to Blinkpark.”
“One more thing, she croaked from behind the dressing room. You’ll need this,” and with her she brought a green acoustinc guitar with a white strap. “Strum.”
He did, and felt a slight tremor below his feet. The light fixtures of 924 spun in perfect circles around them, and all noise and motion seemed to evaporate away like steam after a long awaited bath.
“Best to watch what you eat in the mess-hall,” she said. “I can see your belly beginning to poke out from under there.”
We have a set of uniform that we have to wear no matter what. It's a simlpe one - black pants, dark green blouse, closed shoes. But we are also allowed to add a little bit of our own personality. For me it's lacing my boots with rainbow colours and putting little charms on. It is wearing a pin on my blouse to signal a queer safe space. It is embroidering the sleeves with little golden stars on it. It might not be much but it is a little spark of myself.
The job description of a Starbucks barista didn't include the words 'glamorous' or 'fashionable', but Cordelia was nothing if not an overachiever. She was determined to uplift this Starbucks, one outfit at a time.
Some people might have viewed styling Starbucks green as a setback, but not Cordelia. She welcomed the challenge of making it as fabulous as the rest of her. She debated matching her apron with a pair of stylish brown trousers, but she was not about to be serving coffee looking like a forest. Too much brown and green. She steered herself towards introducing a pop of color instead. She pair her fitted white shirt and apron with a pair of coral trousers instead paired with a pair of crisp green and white Nike Court Legacy Lifts.
And that was just the first day.
Day 2 saw designer jeans and a lighter green shirt under her dark apron. Her hair clip, of course, matched the apron while her shoes matched her shirt. She wore Converse this time.
Cordelia was particularly proud of Day 3. She wore a royal purple sweater with black pants and sparkly purple platform sneakers.
After only a week of her employment, employees and customers alike had agreed that Cordelia was the most lively thing this small town Starbucks had ever been exposed to. While the expected it to get old fast, they actually couldn't help but look forward to her second week to see how Cordelia would next surprise them.
It took approximetaly…20 minutes to get completely dressed. Soft music playing in the background, and a pile of both new and old clothing on the chairs, bed, and floor. she picked a pair of socks, and anallized it. every detail, every spot. “either this one. or maybe that one over there.” in 15 minutes the bell rang and this girl had barely put on a shirt. she checked the weather and smiled. “rain.” the mood was calm, peaceful, but strong. “SERIOUSLY! RAIN!?” she searched her closet for 3 minutes, looked in the mirror for two, changed it twice cause, “no, this one makes me look fat.” and finally grabbed just the right one. one button, two button, three button. so delicate the way she took care of her clothes. pink elegant shirt, white fancy skirt, and a big cute bow. "i need a coat.” she grabbed a coat. well, many more. "just in case i need some mo… “abby let’s go!!!” she applied glossy lip gloss and zipped all her backpack zippers up. Walking down the stairs she thought, “I think i might be a princess.” she puts her earbuds in her ears and starts humming with a gentle tone. When she gets juice from school spilled, she cries and calls her mama home. “i’m just a girl." She’s just a girl.
Uniform is pristine ironed it’s most realistic. It has lots of stars on it for merit and achievement and it’s on show and display and its glory.
The colours are bright. It’s also fairy tidy and press and perfectionistic and display.
It displays the character of the culture realistic roots of the regiment throughout the centuries covering up injuries.
The annoying sound of my alarm is heard. I wake up, still half asleep. I shouldn't have slept that late, but I can't help myself. I stretch a little and look at the time. 6am. It's way too early but I can't be late for school. I need to be perfect. Or at least perfect in the eyes of the other students. Sitting in front of my vanity, I look at myself in the mirror. Why do I look like this? Why can't I be like the pretty girl at school? Perfect skin, perfect body, perfect everything. I get dressed in the uniform. Putting on the gray skirt along with the white blouse, my thoughts go to multiple places, thinking too many things at once. Why are the girls so pretty in this uniform? Why don't I look like them? We have the same uniform and I make sure to put on the same cute makeup they wear, desperate to at least try to look like them. Am I obsessed with beauty? Probably. Am I afraid of judgement? Definitely. While curling my lashes and applying mascara, I realize that I never even liked mascara. I didn't like wearing it before seeing that every teenager wears some. Now I can't feel pretty without it. Same thing goes for gloss: I always hated lip balm, I couldn't even think about putting gloss or lip stick on my lips. But now? Having glossy lips is a must before leaving the house, because once again, I can't feel pretty without it. I check the time; 7:30 a.m. It took one hour and thirty minutes to put on the same outfit we're forced to wear at school, and same makeup as usual to fit in with other girls. I don't have time to make my lunch today, or I'll miss the bus. I focus too much on my appearance, don't I? It's okay if I skip one meal, right? It won't do anything. Besides, it's the least I could do to achieve such a perfect body as the other teenagers. I'll just put a quick snack in my backpack and leave the house, I'll be alright. I out on my shoes and my jacket. My mom forced me to wear it, saying it's really cold outside. When I finally get in the bus after waiting in the cold snow, I melt in my seat. The heater of the bus soothes me. Now only a few minutes before we arrive at school. Another boring day, worrying about how I look and constantly comparing myself to others.
Snow clung to his black felt hat. It was bitterly cold that day. He rubbed his threadbare leather gloved hands together, fighting off the stiffness and chill. His tattered jeans and old leathers almost already soaked through from the snow as he made his way to his horse. The Montana sun barely glowed through the overcast sky. There was a blizzard coming, and the cows needed moving. He was put together rough, and rode life rougher. His sun wrinkled face made it hard to tell how truly old he was, yet his eyes were bright and young. He tightened the cinch on his old bay gelding, white hairs dotting around his eyes and nose. He lightly smacked the gelding on his belly, already knowing the old trick the horse was trying to pull. “Not today, son. We got work.” He gruffed out. The old gelding let out a groan, as if he understood. He huffed out, letting go of the air making his stomach swell, the girth loosened. “Atta boy.” He softly praised and tightened the cinch up a few more holes.
He put the toe of one of his well worn boots in the stirrup. And with a handful of mane pulled himself up and onto the saddle. He took out a hand rolled cigarette from the pocket of his mud covered beige jacket. He lit is with a old rusty lighter he’d gotten years ago in a bar in Arizona. Taking a swell, he relaxed in the saddle, enjoying the warmth that spread throughout his body. Cigarette in lip he gave the gelding a kick and a click of his tongue. And off they trotted down the snow covered trail as the blizzard prepared to raged far up in the sky above.
She tucked in her belly and pulled her white socks all the way up, her hair had to be straight with no hair out of place, her teeth had to look as white and as straight as they could possibly be, and her posture had to be just right. This wasn’t anyone else asking her to do these things. This was simply her choice. She wanted to make sure her grades were all A’s and no B’s. She had to be good at every subject. Know big words. Understand the numbers in math. Of course she also had to get the highest test grade…if she didn’t, well she would try and bribe the teacher to let her redo tests until she got the highest.
Her uniform color was blue. Dark blue to be exact. Perfect. That was the color that suited her blackish-blue hair and brown eyes. Her sneakers could not have a single speck on them.
When she looked at other girls who had something that didn’t look right like an odd laugh or too giggly around guys, she always frowned upon them and sighed with sympathy. Those poor girls, she thought. If only people could be as perfect as her. If only people were as cool as her. If only people were as pretty as her….
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