Over Christmas I read The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde and I was not a fan. However I loved the actual concept so I got it into my head to do a modern YA retelling which I started last night.

Thought I’d share the start of Chapter One to see what you think.

Click.

Click.

Click, Click, Click. Fifth photo lucky.

I’m lying in bed, right arm extend above me trying to get a natural shot that captures my “just woke up” face. But the pretty version, after I’ve combed my hair and brushed my teeth. Of course I know that no-one can smell my breath in a photograph, but I’d just know. Every time I looked at my profile I’d feel icky thinking that that was the morning I had night before garlic bread breath.

I got it. That perfect shot where my hair is spread artfully on the pillow, there’s a slight blush in my cheeks; Max Factor Rose Garden, and you can just see a hint of my piercing blue eyes opening. Almost like that Sphinx thing in that old Neverending Story film dad made me watch this weekend. Part of my “Proper film education”.

If I upload this there’s no way that Ian can ignore it. He’ll be shot with my laser eyes, caught in my trap. I hope.

I upload it to my account and use the Lark filter – it seemed apt for a morning shot.

Status – urrgh weekday mornings

Hashtags – #tooearly #morningssuck #bedhead #nofilter (okay the last two aren’t entirely true but needs must).

Within 30 seconds of hitting the share button I have ten likes. All from guys from school, but none from Ian… yet.

“Marion, you’ve got fifteen minutes to eat breakfast before I drop you to school,’ mum yells.

Make that five by the time I’ve put my uniform on and it takes all of that to make breakfast look insta worthy. I layer seeds and fruit and yoghurt in my super cute Cath Kidston pink floral breakfast bowl, take a quick shot and upend it all into a plastic container to eat in the car, chia seeds and all.

I balance the makeshift bowl on my lap and spoon the contents in left handed as mum sings along to whatever old person station she listens to in the morning. I’ve had to resign myself to losing the battle of secretly tuning the station to Radio 1 each evening, especially as she now takes the car keys up to her room rather than leave them in the key bowl by the door.

Instead I use my non feeding hand to feed my soul and check how my insta posts are doing.

#breakfastbowl #cathkidston #eatclean #chiasuperfoodness has 102 likes and one comment which turns out to be some spambot selling diet pills. Blocked.

But this morning’s selfie has 327 likes and 20 comments. My heart leaps and I scroll through the commenters handles, nothing from Ian. Just as I’m about to check through the list of likers another notification pops up.

Whov-Ian liked your post.

Operation “Get Him Back” has commenced. I can even overlook the Doctor Who nerdiness because of THOSE abs, which his latest gym shot highlights. I don’t like his picture tho. I’m not that needy.

I now look back through the comments on my pic which are all a variation on two themes.

“Well jel – wish i looked like that first thing”

“Looking stunning as always hun”

“You should totes make this your profile pic babe”

and

“Fit as”

“I’d like to wake up next to that”

“😍😍”

There’s one though that stands out, from an account called Duckfacersdie.

#fake #nofiltermyarse #getalife

I think – #potkettleblack but click on their profile anyway and up pops a feed of similar shots of girls with bubble font hashtags posted all over their pics and mine is the most recent. I don’t look at the comments here but report and block them too. Boy it feels satisfying.

I choose to follow the advice of babesunit8 and update my profile picture. I really do like how I look in this one, for once.