Losses of Vanity

She might be going bald. It's been happening every morning, the shower drain sucking down water-logged clumps of caramel, her brush displaying freshly pulled curls like hard-won prizes. She attempts to count the loss, to keep track and determine if it's truly increasing but it's hard to be accurate when the sink is full of what was once beauty.

Sitting in the dirt, Rissa runs a shaky hand through her hair, the smoking wreckage of her favorite car whining eerily behind her. Bruises are already showing deep purple-black across her arms and legs, and she can't find her cellphone anywhere, the only hope for help a lone gas station she passed close to twenty miles back. She drops her hand with a tired sigh. Three more strands hit the ground.