Old

I was on the bus one day, during rush hour, as all the students walked to school. From my window seat I chanced to see an elderly couple among the rabble walking hand in hand. What surprised me was that they were both dressed in a punk fashion, a man in a long leather coat and long hair back in a ponytail, and a woman with short pink hair jelled upwards and in a short leather skirt. I imagined them waking up and being surprised to find themselves old, then going about their daily duties as if nothing had changed. So, what can I say, I wrote a story about it. If you chance to think up any feedback I would adore it...

Old
Today I woke up old. My hand was withered like a dried rose petal, so I held it up to the morning sun to see if the light would shine through. It didn't, skin think with pent up memories I've never had.
When I tried to get out of bed, my lips parted of their own accord as my back clicked into place, one vertebrae on top of the other. My feet curled in on themselves, the skin on the bottom thick like dead slugs.
I dressed myself in my best black cashmere jumper, but my stomach and breasts bulged unexpectedly, so I zipped a stiff jacket on over. My leather skirt wouldn't close any more, I used a safety pin hoping no one would notice. The makeup in my bag didn't match my face, the red lipstick paled me and showed the circles beneath my eyes. I zipped the bag up and wiped it off.
Nobody turned their heads when I walked by. Young men fixed their eyes on the legs of some other scrawny mite. I caught sight of myself in a shop window, and a blush crept up my neck. I was old, I could see it in the reflection that hovered over a faceless dummy. My skin was draped over me, my legs were blemished with a tangle of purple wires. Somebody looked, I knew it at once, but the gaze I turned to meet was the cold, disapproving stare of a young woman. I shuffled home as fast as my creaking legs could take me, gently lay myself on my med, curtains closed, lights out. Maybe I'll wake up young tomorrow.