**Warning: Light cursing**

No one bats an eye at the one with wrinkles. Sagged eyes, white hair, dry lips— all the unlovely things that come with age.

“Alice, take those men’s order, will you?” her manager calls out from behind the counter.

Alice steps away from the register with a sigh, grabbing the clipboard off the hook.

_‘Why do I always have to do Jessa’s job?’_

She smooths down her apron, masking the irritation in her steps as she approaches the table.

“Hello, sir,” she greets, polite, even cheerful. “What can I get for you today?”

The older man stares at her a beat too long before squinting. “Where’s the other girl?”

“I don’t know where she went,” Alice replies, keeping her smile in place. “But I can take your order.”

The two men exchange a look, tight-lipped and amused in that mean-spirited way.

“I don’t want this fuckin’ old hag takin’ our order,” the second one says, a cigarette tucked between yellowed fingers. “Where’s that other chick?”

‘_Old hag._’ Alice is thirty-two. She doesn’t flinch. Just holds her clipboard a little tighter, chin up.

“Can I get your order?” she asks again, steady.

The man takes a long drag of his cigarette, then scoffs. “We said we don’t want your ugly ass pestering us!”

The shout cuts through the room.

Before Alice can speak, her manager is already moving. He steps between them with practiced ease.

“Apologies for her attitude, gentlemen,” he says smoothly, smiling. “Our other waitress must’ve stepped out for a bit. I’ll take it from here.”

He doesn’t look at her, not directly, but there’s a small tilt of his head, a signal. _Back to the counter._

Alice turns without a word.

She stays at the register, staring blankly at the wall. Pretending it didn’t affect her.

Of course it wasn’t fair—but what else could she do? It’s the only job she’s found in months, and even though the pay barely covered anything, at least it came with a hot meal.

Her manager returns a minute later, smelling faintly of cologne and smoke. The fake smile gone.

“Go do the dishes,” he mutters, like he’s doing her a favor.

Whatever. He can look after the damn register.

“Yes, sir,” she says flatly, already walking away.

Alice made her way to the sink.

She scraped the leftovers off the plates. Rice stuck dry to the side. Bits of soggy lettuce. Grease she had to wipe down with her sleeve before it even hit the water. One of the plates came out clean enough that she could see her reflection.

Her skin wasn’t perfect like Jessa’s. No soft glow or baby face. No youthful charm like her manager, either.

Despite Alice doing the exact same job as them, taking orders, cleaning, restocking, running back and forth when things piled up, it never seemed to count the same. They got off easy. No yelling. No sudden orders barked in the middle of chaos. No dirty looks. No customers calling them names. Even outside this place, they had it better. People looked at them like they belonged.

Like they were welcome in the world.

Not her.

The thought made her skin **_crawl._**

She dunked the plate back into the water and moved on. Scrubbed harder.

The last dish hit the rack with a soft clatter.

Then Jessa came in, smiling. A little lipstick smudged at the edge but otherwise perfect. No rush in her steps. No guilt. No scolding waiting for her.

Just the manager’s voice earlier. Light.

“Don’t wander out again, pretty lady!”

_And that was it._

Alice clocked out later than usual, carrying leftovers packed into one of the diner’s old takeout containers. Scraps from someone else’s plate, but enough for dinner.

As she walked down the street, the walls around her were papered with ads and flyers. They screamed over each other in bold colors and big fonts.

**_Buy this!

Look more youthful!

Erase wrinkles in 7 days!

_**

It was tempting. Sometimes, Alice felt like she was just one phone call away from giving in. Just one more long stare in the mirror away from ordering something off those ads.

But she never did.

Something about it always left a bad taste in her mouth. And besides, money was better put elsewhere.

She was almost home when she heard it. A strange sound tucked between the quiet, muffled crying. Alice stopped walking and looked toward the alleyway.

There was _someone_ there, hunched under a dirty blanket. Tucked in like they wanted to disappear.

Alice hesitated. She wasn’t sure if she should help or just keep walking, but her legs moved on their own. She stepped closer and gently set down another container she had in front of them.

“Inside is food. Some beef and corn,” she said. “It’s not contaminated.”

The person didn’t respond. Didn’t even turn their head. Alice took that as a cue to leave, already trying to move past.

Until something cold grabbed her leg.

_“What—”_

_“Please look at me,”_ the voice said, cracking. A woman. Sobbing, breathless, shaking. Her face turned up—and Alice _froze._

Her face was clear. Young. Youthful in a way that looked unnatural. Skin tight, glowing, flawless, but warped. Almost too smooth, **_distorted_**.

_“W-What happened to you?”_ Alice asked.

The woman’s eyes went wide.

**“TELL ME I’M PRETTY!”** she screamed. Her nails dug deep into Alice’s calf, sharp and sudden. “TELL ME! PLEASE! THAT I’M—”

“LET GO OF ME!” Alice yelled, stumbling back and kicking her leg until the woman’s grip slipped.

The hand dropped. Alice didn’t wait.

She ran.

Heart in her throat, feet slamming against the pavement as she didn’t dare look back. Ran until the streets blurred, until her breath hitched and her lungs burned. Only stopping when she reached somewhere bright, somewhere with people. Somewhere safe enough.

She bent over, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.

_‘What the hell was that?’_ Alice thought to herself.

Her breathing was still uneven. She could feel the sting on her leg where the woman’s nails had dug in. Her voice still rang in Alice’s head. Desperate. Screaming.

She looked up.

Another wall. Covered in the same damn thing. Flyers and ads stuck on top of each other like mold.

Alice stared at them. The colors. The smiling faces.

**_Buy this!

Look younger!

Be beautiful again—_**

Something _snapped_ inside her.

She started tearing them down. One by one. Then faster. She clawed at the paper, ripping chunks, scratching at the glue, throwing them to the ground. Her fingers stung from the paste. Some of the paper stuck to her skin. The rest scattered across the street like trash.

When there was nothing left to rip, she stopped.

Stood there for a second.

Breathing hard.

Staring at the torn-up wall. She couldn’t believe herself.

“Humanity is fucked,” she muttered.

And in that moment, she really meant it.