Triggers: capitivity
Amanda was a normal girl. She was wearing long black pantyhose and blue flats. Her hair was pink and fluffed. A black dress with red frilly piping was hung on the door, where it had been for three weeks. She was waiting for an occasion. Amanda wiped clean, 1 square. Neat as always. If she had a girlfriend, her girlfriend might be proud. She sighed and washed her hands. As she got the thirty second mark of brushing her teeth she she had an epiphany and looked up.
“Are you my girlfriend?”
“Well honey…”
Heather had a blank expression and a lot of patience in her face. She had time to learn patience. Blond straight hair dripped towards the floor. Her dull blue eyes were wide open, awake for the first time in days.
“You generally do not install your girlfriend in the bathroom ceiling.”
“The humidity keeps the mucus cocoon alive and capable of supporting you.”
“This is also not generally a normal caveat of a relationship.”
“So if I took you down, would you be my girlfriend.”
“Well I was your girlfriend before you literally stole EVERYTHING from me.”
“Like but why leave the person, if you’re going to take someone for all the worth, why leave the cuddly part.”
“The cuddly part glued to the ceiling.”
“Are you going to be my girlfriend or not?”
“Wined or dined in an expensive restaraunt vs being a booger in a crazy lady’s bathroom? Hmm.”
“Stop speaking in riddles. Yeah, I know but like we could go to Bazabeaux. I mean its not as cool as living in my bathroom but there’s pizza.”
“GET ME DOWN YOU FUCKING IDIOT.”
Amanda ran downstairs to get a spatula. Returning with the spatula and a step ladder, with what was obviously some manner of routine, she climbed up shoved the spatula behind Heather’s and applied a small amount of pressure. The stuff broke like plaster full of shards and dust. First came the apples up front and for a second freefall then the peaches in the back bounced ever so slightly on the ground. Heather’s prison cushioned the fall making more dust. Heather coughed
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m going to bathe now. Retrieve my black dress. If you pawned my black dress, skin yourself and tan me a black dress.”
A shower, a zipping and a walk down the stairs later, Heather reached a glass door opening to a very quiet neighborhood. As she clacked down the sidewalk, she turned to find that she had been inside a very black Queen Anne in a very new planned community. Her Subaru Forester was sitting in the driveway.
“I’ve managed to get 5 mpg over the sticker.”
Amanda was right next to her like a bamf and there was a faint smell of sulfur. Heather reckoned that number was under the burden of multiple kidnapped victims. And for a second she cursed herself for enabling a witch by allowing the witch to steal her station wagon. But no proof. Nope. Pizza now. The back seats were folded down though. LALALA
There was a phone book, cushioning a history book on the driver’s seat and the steering wheel was angled downwards. Heather politely took shotgun, still perhaps in a dream state. Maybe dreams just never stop and there’s no need to face obtuse realities. Yet it wasn’t cold when last Heather had sat in her car and a glance would suggest over a hundred miles had been put on to the odometer. Daylight was behind the skyline when they managed to get downtown. It took half an hour to be seated. It took 20 to get food. Heather wished there was a calendar to go with the clock.
“You’re not touching your lobster nonsense.”
“How long was I out.”
“Oh 5 years.”
Heather was pretty sure she could just punch her. As if she had found a shortcut past anger and right to reprisal.
“I’m 31”
Amanda looked up from the sausage and peperoni pizza she bought in an actual sit down pizzeria.
“You’re 26”
“I remember my birthdate for god sake.”
“Its kinda irrelevant though, you’re not getting older.”
The dream was subsiding.
“I’m a toy aren’t I?”
“Is that bad?”
It was quiet. Heather ate a slice every ten minutes and when the hour was done there was no pizza.
“I wish the check would get here.”
Amanda pulled out a beautiful amber heart shaped jewel dangeling from a silver chain.
“I could put him in this necklace.”
Heather didn’t feel her heart move at all despite the fact that she punched Amanda hard enough to break that little round nose.
“Do what you want, I’m going home.”
Heather took the keys and walked out. The sausage took another half hour, mainly out of cowardice. Then Amanda went poof and Amanda was in the second story of her house.
Heather was sitting on top the step ladder in the bathroom.
“Okay your some sort of Greek god, I get it. I’m screwed. Just how do we do this though?”
“You can sleep in my bed with me”
“That’s a twin and also no.”
“You can sleep inside this Barbie bed I keep in a converse box.”
“You can sleep on the couch.”
But Amanda was already wondering who she should put in the shoebox.
Suddenly.... FLASH fiction 