Vanity (first published on Red Monster)

I remember the red oozing down my face and the shock that it was cold, that I felt cold and I swooned, and sat down heavily. The room seemed to tilt and I waited, transfixed, wondering if this time I had really done it. If I had through stupidity killed myself, and the marshmallow thoughts I was now consumed by where dying concussed thoughts.

There was a smell of tin or thunder or electricity and I thought that my blood would run into the electric sockets and fry me where I sat with the hard plastic of them pushing into me.

I looked at the shoe in my hand the redness of it and the dark dampness where my blood had soaked the heel, the vicious spike that had fallen out of the crate I was trying to remove from the wardrobe.

I had always been told as a child that vanity was dangerous and I had always laughed. This time I smiled a crooked little smile and felt drowsy.

Posted: Thursday, November 4th, 2010 @ 9:38 pm
Categories: Flash Fiction.
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