|
She moaned all day and half the night. She’s such a drama queen! Two goddamn inches. That’s all they took off, and that is what she asked for. “Straighten it,” she said. That’s what she wanted and that’s what she got. I mean, she can pretty well tuck it into her panties – if she wore them. Spoilt as. It’s always a major tantrum where she’s concerned. Her hair is long and thick, blond – of course – the perfect shade. So adaptable, she wears it up, down, curled, straight, plaited, crimped … well, any way she wants really. And she looks spectacular. She doesn’t need to throw a tantrum to make everyone look at her. Everything about her seems perfect – on the outside. Perfect look, perfect house, perfect bedroom, large room … big as mirror. She sits in front of it pouting and preening, then flounces out to answer the door. So I sit in her perfect bedroom, beside the perfect luxurious bed and look into that huge, perfect mirror. There’s no mirror in my room. None in my house either. It’s a long time since I saw me. I look pale, gaunt actually. The blue scarf is too dark for me. I take it off – It’s not shocking. I thought it would be. I’d love the chance to get a bad haircut. Chemo-therapy is such a bitch. |
| . |
Mirror Mirror On The Wall By Derin Attwood
Filed under Derin Attwood
Good story! I never dreamed it would end the way it did, which was really dramatic and sad.
I noted that touch of resentment and wondered why. The answer came and changed the whole story before it.
The ending turned the whole story around. Nicely played.
Pingback: Week #26 – bad haircut « 52|250 A Year of Flash
Thanks everyone. I loved doing this story, and I really didn’t get the ‘bitchy’ feel until I’d finished it and re-read it. Then it was there, and it fitted and was right.
I liked the twist at the end. I’m reminded of a poem I wrote about a woman who tried and tried again to lose weight. She finally lost weight. Cancer did the trick. Doris
Brilliant, but so sad. Derin