Friday, February 6, 2015

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!


  1. Haha; being a hipster's not for everyone. I really liked your description in this piece -- especially the "taste of blue." I'm intrigued by the character; about why she's trying so hard to be something she clearly isn't.

  2. Those hipsters will get you every time! I reeeeeeally liked this. You descriptions had me wanting to taste blue and try a pixie cut. Well done!

  3. Thank you both! I'm glad you liked it :D