hudson-hintze-268381-unsplash.jpgShe looks like one of those cut-out paper dolls I made when I was small. A child’s body drawn for women’s clothes, improbably thin and straight. I imagine folded tabs tentatively hanging the misshapen, drab roll-neck and grey-marl jogging pants against her flat body. She shivers and cradles her sharp angles, apparently cool on this humid summer night.

An opulent stream of people babble around her towards a nearby building, several doors channelling them into tributaries. Her face, already accentuated in rosy blush, is even more concave as she pulls on a cigarette. Ash swirls into the sea of trim suits and floaty silk as tickets are removed from leather purses on gold chains.

Later the crowd is held transfixed as she, transformed in soft white feathers, pirouettes and plies across the stage. I wonder if I’m the only one who notices a trace of lingering smoke.

Published by Adhoc Fiction, January 2017

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s