Mythical Love

Say Yes

"You're on in five!" came the raspy voice of the woman with dirty blonde hair. Her head poked in and out of the grimy, musty room that passed for a dressing space, a faint smell of cigarettes clinging to her like perfume. I stared into the cracked, graffiti-covered mirror and exhaled, the sound shaky against the hollow clamor in my chest.

The reflection that stared back at me felt both foreign and familiar. My dark brown almost black hair, straightened to near perfection, was slicked back from my face, emphasizing the dramatic flush on my cheeks. My locks grazed the tops of my shoulder blades, swaying lightly with every tilt of my head, the sensation tickling my skin. I pressed my crimson lips together, checking the evenness of my lipstick, and let my brown eyes sweep one last time over the outfit clinging to my body.

The silver gown, an impulsive thrift find, hugged my form with a sparkling insistence under the warm spotlight. Though the shimmering fabric promised glamour, it dug uncomfortably into my chest, the plunging neckline revealing just a hint of too much cleavage. It wasn't my size—too tight in all the right places—but it was what I had. My legs glittered beneath the dress, a cascade of sparkles trailing down to my ankles where a thin, worn anklet peeked out just above my heels

"On it two!" The woman barks again, this time with an unmistakable edge of impatience. Her eyes narrow at me as though she couldn't care less if I made it on stage or not

"My bad, my bad," I tell the woman, raising up my hands in surrender as I get off the cold metal chair and follow her out. She pointed at the creaky wooden stairs ahead, each step a potential disaster, as if daring me to take my chances. I sigh and make my way up, the clatter of the bar just beyond reminding me that there was no turning back.

A deep voice brings me back to reality as it calls me onto the stage, "And tonight we have a special performance by a lovely singer...Jasmine Floor!" The pudgy southern man drawls out, butchering my name beyond recognition. 

Rolling my eyes, I step onto the stage, immediately greeted by a cloud of stale booze, smoke, and sweat, the pungent mixture wrapping around me like a second skin. The dim bar was full of men clapping lazily from their seats, a few letting out whistles as I approach the microphone and adjust the stand to my height.

"It's actually Yasmine Flores, but you know not everyone can read a name off a sheet." I quip into the mic, flashing a quick smile. The southern pudgy man to my right shoots me a sour look, but a couple of laughs from the front tables softened the tension. The light shines brightly in my face, blurring out the back of the bar into solely shadows, while the tables in the front are filled with drunken men being served by half-naked women.

Play Song

"I just wanna get high with my lover

Veo una muñeca cuando miro en el espejo

Kiss, kiss, looking dolly, I think I may go out tonight

I just wanna ride, get high in the moonlight"

My voice fills the air, tangling with the smoky atmosphere. My hands graze down the fabric of my dress, my body swaying subtly to the beat as my gaze sweeps over the audience. The song moves through me, and for a moment, I was lost in the melody and in the glances and murmurs from the bar

"Forget the small talk

The surface level ain't much that I care for

Putting on my lip gloss

I saw you stare from my peripheral, yeah"

My voice waves up and down in pitch as my eyes close and my hands grip the microphone in front of me.