He looked around at his family. "Is everyone okay?"
His wife turned to him. Her long black hair fell across her pale face, mostly blocking it. Around her eyes, she had black eyeliner. And on her lips, black lipstick.
"Do we look okay to you?" she asked, hysterically.
He looked back at his kids. His son had black spikey hair that shot up in different directions. One side of his daughter's head was shaved, while the other side fell down across the side of her head. On the shaved side, he could see multiple piercings (in her ear, nose, and eyebrow) and even a chain linking her ear to her nose.
He, himself, had a spikey mowhawk that kept brushing the ceiling of the car. He looked down at himself and saw that he was wearing a torn fishnet shirt and a long black vinyl skirt and black boots. He reached up with his hand (which had black polish on the nails) and felt the collar that he wore on his neck. It had two-inch spikes on it.
"No. You don't," he finally answered his wife.
What happened?
He was still in a state of shock, when a police car showed up and parked behind their "new" gothic car.
