She wore lipstick to the Apocalypse, and I think that about describes her. Yeah, she's more than makeup but its the way and where that she wore it that was just so Sarah.

You probably knew a Sarah.

It was a common name back then; could have had three of them in your class. One of them might have even been similar to my Sarah. You know the type. The girl in high school who's nice, not too pretty, and not too popular. Only has enough social grace to avoid embarrassment and hangs with a small group of friends. People like her, but they don't think much of her. Maybe there's a Nerd who has a crush on her since she'll actually talk to him and smile.

She'll never notice, just like she thinks no one will notice her, and he'll never tell her.

I’m sure she was like that in high school—she's shown me her old yearbook and she likes to talk—but I didn't know her until five years later; four years into Uni; one year into the apocalypse. Needless to say, she'd changed a bit by then.

I came across her the first time clad in leather armour and bathed in blood. I honestly thought she was a dude, that was until I realized her lips were hot pink and her figure was round instead of blocky. Why did I mistake her? Because she shaved her hair.

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“It gets caught,” she said dismissively when I asked her about it, “And it’s not like I never shaved it before. It’s a negligible price to pay for my life.”

I asked her how that was related.

“Because bastards and monsters like to grab a girl’s hair when they want to hurt them,” she said with a laugh, but her eyes were cold and distant.

For a while, I thought she wore lipstick to compensate, to make up for the femininity that the Apocalypse took from her. She laughed at me when I mentioned it off-headedly—loud and with a snort.

“I don’t need a reason to wear lipstick. I just like it—always have. Before everything when to shit, I used to put it on when I was lazy and functioning off three hours of sleep. The bright colours of lipstick have this way of making you look like you put effort into yourself, even when you don’t wear any other makeup. It’s like one big distraction drawing eyes to your lips and away from the massive bags under your eyes, and I like the colours. Plus, it's free now.

You know one time I was at the mall with a friend and I tried this purple on for fun because it was named Plague. Like, Plague, right? Can you believe that? We thought the name was hilarious. So I try it on and it’s actually really pretty, so I buy it; it’s still one of my favourites.”

I know not to ask but I do anyways, “What happened to your friend?”

“Gone.” She says it with a smile and I know that it’s with sadness and yet—

When Sarah talks about the past and she doesn’t do so with regret, or longing, or the misery that’s become so common. She talks about it like the happy memory that it is, tells the happy story in as many words as you will let her, and moves on to the increasingly hopeless future. I don’t know anyone else who does it.

I can’t.

I like her smile. It's bright and beautiful, and just a bit crooked. And I love the bright colours she paints it, that stand out even in the gloom.