With her silhouette pressed against the tangled sheets she swam in the percussive beat. Candle flame licked the shadows and the click of her heels in the hardwood floor mixed well with her strawberry martini in her hand. The early hours of the morning shone in their inky blackness and veiled the dusty red room with promises not yet broken. In this room, in that moment, she was no one but herself.
A fat, contented cat lay purring on the rug watching his mistress prance in drunken swirls.
Old photographs were abandoned around the floor like autumn leaves. They showed happy, grinning, forgotten faces and she scolded the cat as she moved him aside to grasp a photograph he had been lounging on.
The orange light that touched the room burnt at the edges of the picture, and it was perhaps the only image without faces grinning, mocking. Instead there were two people staring at one another, lost in each other’s eyes.
She held it up to a candle and let the flames lap at the tattered edges.
Her heels clicked again as she held the burning photograph above her head and swayed her hips to the beat. The heat started to move into her fingertips so she dropped the burning photograph in time to watch her eyes curl into ash.
She had often wondered how others would go, walking in her shoes for a day. She didn’t think they’d do very well. She had a fondness for high, stiletto heels. It took guts to strut around in them; or just a complete lack of care for the judgment of others.
She was never quite sure which it was for her.
The cat might know, but he’d never willingly tell her.
I’ve been working on this slowly, during maths class. It has kept me as sane as I can be… and I must say, I’m quite fond of this girl and her cat :)