This microstory was published in Fairfield Scribes Microfiction Issue #23.
She’d never seen a doll like that: slender limbs, tiny waist, glistening hair. But what drew her was the makeup. Kuttu had reached eleven convinced that her dark skin excluded her from the realms of makeup and beauty. But the doll was even darker than Kuttu and her cheeks were rouged, her coal-black eyes mascara’d, her lips rubied.
Locked in the restroom at recess, Kuttu applies the lip-gloss that cost a month’s allowance. She blushes at her reflection suddenly beautiful. Her heart soaring, her feet firm, she turns gratefully to the doll.
Her eyes land on the doll’s tiny waist.