The dress spoke for her, and it had quite a lot to say.
With layers upon layers of lace and tulle, it was as exquisite as it was expressive. The open back revealed flawless porcelain skin, complimented by glistening black and dreamy scarlet. The layers ruffled in a soft passing wind, zephyrs billowing through the subway station. The sequines dazzled in the fluorescent white lights and flashing signals from the passing cars. A fleeing mumble passed her as she stood, tall and straight, with fingers as long and as delicate as boughs of willow. A high bun, barely a strand falling loose, strengthened her silhouette for those who saw her from the other side. And when they did see her? All they could do was gape. They could simply stare in disbelief and lost misogynistic fantasy at the words painted across her bodice.
"Don't Fucking Talk to Me"
YOU ARE READING
100 Days of Flash Fiction
Short StoryJust a fun collection of trying to beat my writer's block! All of this is utter nonsense, so I hope you gain something from the ramblings of my wandering brain. All the prompts I use aren't mine and can be found here: https://www.eadeverell.com/100...
