(Raw snippet from a larger work)
The subway rolled in. Anna moved into one of the trains, noticing once again the slight stoop of her shoulders. It still bothered her. In the dim, unflattering fluorescent light, she brushed off once again the gnawing of dissatisfaction. It had gotten better in the latter years or she had gotten better at pushing the feeling to the periphery of her consciousness.
Her life so far had been a step too late. Fairly recently, she had finally realized that she had been one of the golden children, the chosen ones–intelligent, ambitious, driven. She had actually been the people she admired but had not known it at the time. So her promise had not panned out and she had slipped into an uneasy mediocrity as time went on. By the time she had noticed, it had been too late–an entire life lived in the pluperfect.
In some ways, it didn’t matter. Anna had gotten very good at lying, and the past that she could have had but didn’t, she simply had invented. And she was good at invention. Her golden child sense of entitlement left her with no scruples in doing this. The way she figured, it was her birthright. The only reason her life had not gone the chosen way was a misstep, a simple miscalculation–on the whole dismisable.