Tonight's writing class tapped out my creative inspiration so I'm going to cheat here and reuse something I started in class:
Margaret stared into the mirror and watched as swollen fingers explored the creases in her face. Not her fingers. The fingers of a stranger. Her fingers were slender and smooth, not miniature sausages. Now that she thought about it, the face wasn't her's either. Oh, the face was attached to her body - sure enough- but it failed to reflect the still girlish personality that was the real Margaret.
"You did this to me," she said to her husband. "You infected me with children who grew up and stole my last nerve. And what did you do to stop those crimes? Nothing."
Her husband said nothing of course. Margaret would have died on the spot if he had. Once again she considered what the total taxidermy bill had been. Once again she assured herself the stuffing of her husband had been worth every penny.
No comments:
Post a Comment