She couldn't get her eyeliner to go on straight. Her eyes kept tearing up and twitching under the sharp edge of the pencil. She rubbed at the lines with her finger, but that smeary, smoky look didn't work on her, her eyes were too intense already. She laid the pencil down beside the sink, grabbed a cigarette out of her pack, lit it, and sat down on the toilet to smoke. She looked into the half open eyes of the corpse, haphazardly submerged in bloody bath water and whispered, "God damn you, David." She glanced up at the Tinkerbell alarm clock on the bathroom shelf, always set fifteen minutes fast, and gave up on getting ready for work.
Note: This was part of a Flash Fiction challenge that Patti Abbott championed a while back. We each wrote an opening paragraph and then had to write a story based off somebody else's paragraph. This was the opener I sent out and I noticed that it was six sentences. Waste not, I say. ~P
FYI Patti's blog is a fab read: http://pattinase.blogspot.com