Micro Fiction Monday: Door of Fragments
Photo by Krišjānis Kazaks on Unsplash
Sweat contoured around Gabriella’s high cheekbones as the applause filled her with the rush she always loved when dancing on stage. She bowed, braids falling over her shoulders, in her deep, red dress she paid a fortune for, but it felt all so worth it with the lights shining on her. This moment was almost enough to drown away the crushing anxieties about the debt she needed pay off. The audience wasn’t as large as she was hoping.
She fled to her dressing room. On her way, she noticed a door, tucked away in the shadows. When had that been there? “Great show out there,” one of the production crew patted her shoulder. She gave him a brief smile, and when she turned back to the door, there was an alluring black butch woman in a fine turn coat suit. The woman disappeared behind the door with an expectant eye. Gabriella couldn’t help but to oblige.
When she stepped through the door, her heels poked against a marble floor. The room was bright with mirrors everywhere. She glanced back, but the door had vanished. Her heart started to race as she glanced around, and her gaze settled on the butch woman on the other side of the room.
Gabriella didn’t see, but the woman’s reflection was distorted and more human-like than human. “Need something?” asked the black butch woman rhetorically. She pulled out a wad of cash and counted it. Gabriella watched her carefully, not sure if she was desperate to take this woman to bed or the money she wielded like a magic wand. Her voice was warm like heated milk at night.
“What do you want?” she asked, eyes narrowed.
The black, butch woman smiled. The mirrors reflected Gabriella herself, only older with an exquisite dress, even more exquisite than the one she had on. She was showered in riches and fame, but shadows lingered around her wrists and ankles like chains. “Just one dance.”
Gabriella pursed her lips, but she was compelled to step forward, despite her reservations. Then, they began to dance as if she were on stage again, only the need to pretend- to step into story was a seamless transition. It was as if they had been dancing for years. She glanced at the mirrors to see them transforming into a gross reflection of herself, warping it. Gabriella tried to pull away, but the woman’s grip on her hand tightened. Gabriella met the woman’s eyes that had pooled into a dark blue and drowned away all her doubts, fears, the life she was leaving behind to become the person she ambitiously wanted.
When the woman’s grip loosened, she leaned in and whispered in her ear, all softness evaporated, “You’re mine.” Something gross and disturbed settled into her core, singing a rhythm she would never forget. And then she was alone, staring at her reflection with the woman’s eyes looking back at her. What had she done?
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