By Victoria Bromley
A piece of flash fiction which may inspire your submission to issue 09 gluttony.
I think she meant to type “slut”, but then again, maybe she got it right. I chuckle, some amusement to start the night. Her insults are pearls I wear around my neck, polished and sparkling like my manicured nails. I wanted those soap nails everyone has now, but in the salon I saw a woman with long burgundy nails, and I asked the beautician to start again, wipe the nails clean and apply the same dark shade as the fashionable woman in the fur coat. She charged me twice. I admire them now as I thread the strap through the buckle of my heels. It’s a Friday night. There’s going to be a party, lots of drinks, dancing, more drinks, an endless starry night. I thought these things would get old, but I cannot fathom a time when I would deny myself this. Sparkles and bubbles and olives in martini glasses. The frivolous, fantastical possibilities when you’re a young woman in a city doing things women in cities do on nights like this.
I open a bottle of champagne for the ride, and bubbles froth out the top like foam off a waterfall until half the bottle is a shimmering pool on the floor. I glance at my phone again. Maybe it is a typo. A barbed attack on my promiscuity to make her feel better. Whoever this woman is. Perhaps her husband is a man I’ve slept with. The affairs are always quick, a blinding flash, then done. So disposable, an instant pleasure, then there’s nothing left for me.
The champagne is too crisp. I need something warmer, richer. I pop the cork off a Malbec and fill a wine glass. I decide to reply to the message. I tap on the bright pink heart emoji with the sparkles around it and click send. The wine’s silky smooth as it travels across my tongue, insatiable, then glides down my throat.
Submissions for issue 09 gluttony close Sunday 5th October. Read our guidelines carefully before submitting.
swim press 