Wednesday, November 28

The Price of Beauty

Our car speeded along the empty highway like a long, red, endless brushstroke on a canvas of black. Dirk, with his hair slicked up into the faint appearance of a mohawk, commanded the steering wheel with just one hand. The other was occupied with me.
“So, where is this party?” I ventured, pushing his hand away. He pinched my cheek, but then found a new place for his hand.
“Do you know where Edge-Long Beach is?”
“Babe, that’s an hour away!”
“You don’t want to go? We can turn back.”
I pouted but clenched my teeth, remaining stone silent. He was right, as usual, a fact that was beginning to prod at me.
“I thought so.” He turned up the music and simultaneously tuned me out.
Without his attentions, I concentrated myself on introspection. Was I ready to play my part tonight? The mirror wasn’t even necessary for me to check. My mascara was flawless and the sequined mini-dress I wore was perfectly tailored. But though I had the looks, I wasn’t sure if  coaxing myself to coyness was a possibility tonight. Surely beauty and feeling beautiful has a price.



  1. Wow ... I loved this piece ... amazing !!!

  2. What a compact but big scene..i guess when it is beauty for the means of getting something in the outside world it has a anything does..great write..jae

  3. Very well written descriptive piece.

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