october contest: Clavicle, Supermarket, Motif
A prompted ficlet for Brigit's flame, using the three keywords :Clavicle, Supermarket, Motif
The aspiring writer
The two friends and roommates met up the day before Halloween, on All Hallow's Eve for their biweekly grocery shopping. Both having finished work early, they set off in good cheer to the local Walmart and discussed what they wanted to wear for the party the next night. Both of the girls had left their costume shopping until the last moment.
"What do you want to go as?" Julie asked Samantha.
"A belly dancer. Or an angel. Whichever will get me more guys," Samantha replied, grinning saucily. "What about you?"
"Pirate. Or wench. Or maybe a ghost." Julie answered. She didn't look nearly as good in outfits as her slim friend. Fashion wasn't designed for fat chicks.
Samantha looked at Julie as if she was mad. "The only people who go as ghosts are losers who can't come up with something decent. No way are you going as a ghost. We'll find you something hot." she replied dismissively.
She pulled one outfit out of the rack, and held it up against Julie. "Nice." she decided. "Go and try it on." she ordered. Julie took it tentatively, looking at it doubtfully.
"Pink?" she questioned.
"Just go and try it," Samantha urged her, grinning widely as she carried on looking through the racks.
Several minutes later she knocked on the door to the changing room. "Come on, let me see," she encouraged Julie.
"No! its...Sam, its pink. I look like a merangue!" Julie's complained from inside.
"Come on, let me see," Samantha encouraged Julie and slowly the door opened. Samantha looked inside.
"Oh my God. Its perfect. You are Jeannie!" She gushed. "See? You've got the scarf and we're going to have to get a gem for your belly button but the trousers are perfect!"
"I'm a belly dancer. Sam, I don't have the figure for this!" Julie replied, looking at the mirror and covering her stomach with her hands.
"Yes you do, and you're not a belly dancer, you're Jeannie from I dream of Jeannie."
"I can't wear this," Julie objected. "You can see my belly!"
"And you look amazing. You've lost how much weight? I can see your clavicles for Christ's sake, you're not fat any more." Samantha replied patiently.
"I still feel fat!" Julie looked in the mirror again, still seeing those three stone worth of weight she no longer carried. Still seeing fat and flab and not the slimmer self. She couldn't see the way her arms and legs were firmer, she could just see the fat she still had to lose.
"The guys will love you," Samantha told her quietly, seriously.
"They will?" Julie asked quietly, not wanting the guys to love it. Wanting the girls to love it. But she couldn't do that, she couldn't come out in the middle of a supermarket and confess to her best friend and roommate that she was bisexual. Gay even. More gay than bisexual. That she knew who she wanted.
-----
Jenny closed her fiction notepad sharply. This was crap. She could write better. She knew she could write better. She had a theme, her motif, her characters, her stash of anecdotes to draw on, and still she couldn't write it. Not as well as she wanted. She didn't have the voice for it.
She looked over at the other girls in the common room in residence, looked over at the Samantha her fictional Samantha was based on and packed away her notepad quietly. She'd never work up the courage to get published if she couldn't even give it to a friend. The friend she had fallen in love with and was trying to come out to. The friend she hoped would see through the stories and read what she wasn't saying.
The aspiring writer
The two friends and roommates met up the day before Halloween, on All Hallow's Eve for their biweekly grocery shopping. Both having finished work early, they set off in good cheer to the local Walmart and discussed what they wanted to wear for the party the next night. Both of the girls had left their costume shopping until the last moment.
"What do you want to go as?" Julie asked Samantha.
"A belly dancer. Or an angel. Whichever will get me more guys," Samantha replied, grinning saucily. "What about you?"
"Pirate. Or wench. Or maybe a ghost." Julie answered. She didn't look nearly as good in outfits as her slim friend. Fashion wasn't designed for fat chicks.
Samantha looked at Julie as if she was mad. "The only people who go as ghosts are losers who can't come up with something decent. No way are you going as a ghost. We'll find you something hot." she replied dismissively.
She pulled one outfit out of the rack, and held it up against Julie. "Nice." she decided. "Go and try it on." she ordered. Julie took it tentatively, looking at it doubtfully.
"Pink?" she questioned.
"Just go and try it," Samantha urged her, grinning widely as she carried on looking through the racks.
Several minutes later she knocked on the door to the changing room. "Come on, let me see," she encouraged Julie.
"No! its...Sam, its pink. I look like a merangue!" Julie's complained from inside.
"Come on, let me see," Samantha encouraged Julie and slowly the door opened. Samantha looked inside.
"Oh my God. Its perfect. You are Jeannie!" She gushed. "See? You've got the scarf and we're going to have to get a gem for your belly button but the trousers are perfect!"
"I'm a belly dancer. Sam, I don't have the figure for this!" Julie replied, looking at the mirror and covering her stomach with her hands.
"Yes you do, and you're not a belly dancer, you're Jeannie from I dream of Jeannie."
"I can't wear this," Julie objected. "You can see my belly!"
"And you look amazing. You've lost how much weight? I can see your clavicles for Christ's sake, you're not fat any more." Samantha replied patiently.
"I still feel fat!" Julie looked in the mirror again, still seeing those three stone worth of weight she no longer carried. Still seeing fat and flab and not the slimmer self. She couldn't see the way her arms and legs were firmer, she could just see the fat she still had to lose.
"The guys will love you," Samantha told her quietly, seriously.
"They will?" Julie asked quietly, not wanting the guys to love it. Wanting the girls to love it. But she couldn't do that, she couldn't come out in the middle of a supermarket and confess to her best friend and roommate that she was bisexual. Gay even. More gay than bisexual. That she knew who she wanted.
-----
Jenny closed her fiction notepad sharply. This was crap. She could write better. She knew she could write better. She had a theme, her motif, her characters, her stash of anecdotes to draw on, and still she couldn't write it. Not as well as she wanted. She didn't have the voice for it.
She looked over at the other girls in the common room in residence, looked over at the Samantha her fictional Samantha was based on and packed away her notepad quietly. She'd never work up the courage to get published if she couldn't even give it to a friend. The friend she had fallen in love with and was trying to come out to. The friend she hoped would see through the stories and read what she wasn't saying.