Some flash fiction for you. Warning: do not eat while reading.
I wanted that dress. I mean, brick through the pvc window; alarm goes off; blood on shattered glass, and hands, and frock; dress itself proper shredded as I drag that red, sequin covered beauty through the broken window, and make off with it.
Truth told, I didn’t so much want the dress, as I wanted to smash a window. Not just any window, but that one: the bay one that had “Pretty Things for Pretty Women” smeared above it, and the door. Not literally smeared: the sign was plastic, shiny letters, not scum, or shit.
Okay, so the sign did have some vomit. Also, piss. I’d happened to find them the night before, and decided they were wasted on the pavement in front of the corner shop next door. But I didn’t put them on the main sign, oh no: they were on the one which read “Pretties by Karli” Only, instead of a dot, there was a love heart over the “i” in “Karli”.
I ask you, what sort of grown woman uses a heart instead of a dot? One who hadn’t properly progressed, mentally, physically, or emotionally, since she was a scrawny 14 year old, all long legs, and pouty lips, and make up, and the sort of notebook that has multiple “Karli luvs Jason” and “Karli + Jason 4 Eva” scrawled across the cover.
For starters, who the hell is Eva? And why is she in a three some with that bitch Karli?
Ok, I know she really meant “forever”. Stupid cow. She doesn’t just deserve vomit paint, or a brick through the window. The woman’s simply crying out for English lessons.
You think this is about Jason, don’t you? Poncy git, I wouldn’t touch him with a barge pole. Thwack him with it, maybe. Touch him? Not even if he were the last man on the planet, and the universe was gagging for a fresh crop of human beings.
Miserable species, humans.
Why? Evidence one: Karli. Evidence two: her “love heart” dot. Evidence three: Jason, a man whose brain has evidently been replaced by a very small bowl of oatmeal.
I bet they start each morning by flossing between the ears.
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