Eye Cream Epiphany

"Put the third cream on with your ring finger, yes, that's just right. The ring finger has the softest touch and won't pull your skin to give you premature wrinkles." She hoped her feigned enthusiasm would be enough to hide the dead she felt inside as she rattled on, instructing the seven or so women who she once called her friends. 

How many times could someone be exploited before they considered themselves an enemy? An old coworker was already avoiding eye contact and she hadn't even asked them to sell their friends out yet. 

She had done the Uplift Unit gig.

She had done her hundreds of facials.

She had done the Color Parties with the prizes and the pushing and the guilting.

And she had enough.

"You can keep the stuff," she heard herself say and she walked away. 

And never looked back.

This short story is a part of the illustrious Flash Fiction Friday. Read the other lovely stories, spun off the prompt "She had enough of parties." from The Sarcastic Muse at the links below!

Brianne Dosch * Kat!e Larson * Quinlyn Shaughnessy * Lady Violet

Breathing

Dora studied him over her cup of cocoa and tried to discreetly rub her nose and smooth her hair at the same time; the steam was making her chilled nose run.

He caught her staring and she blushed but didn’t look away. She held her breath until he scooted closer. Their knees now touched.

Bump. Bump. Bump.

She looked up. “What’s that noise?”

“Oh, those are just Grandma’s masks.” He pulled a red plaid curtain aside to display a string of clay masks. “They remind me of windchimes.”

Her smile slipped. “Harold, there’s no wind inside.”

“Oh, that’s just them breathing.”

This short story is a part of the illustrious Flash Fiction Friday. Read the other lovely stories, spun off the prompt (which is the picture with this post) at the links below!

Brianne Dosch * Kat!e Larson * Quinlyn Shaughnessy * Lady Violet

Saturday Morning

The record shop was thick, hazy really, from the curls of incense slipping through the gaps in the curtained alcove.

Carlie shook her head and thought about holding her breath. Was it worth all of this? But she knew her woven pullover and Toms weren’t enough. She wasn’t quite ready to commit to a pixiecut and her eyesight wasn’t bad enough to merit Ray-Bans.

So she needed to at least buy one record. It was only fair. She continued rummaging through the alphabetized cartons.

There was a jingling sound from the bellydancing sarong rack in the corner as the air in the room changed and moved in an unnatural way.

At first, Carlie tasted it, this overwhelming taste of blue. It washed over her, again and again, in varying degrees. Pale, then dark, then dark again.

Head swimming, she stumbled to the front door and breathed the biting October air.

Her aunt was right. Those dirty hipsters.

This short story is a part of the illustrious Flash Fiction Friday. Read the other lovely stories, spun off the prompt: "The air in the room changed and moved in an unnatural way." at the links below!

Brianne Dosch * Kat!e Larson * Quinlyn Shaughnessy * Lady Violet