I just had to start a story from a far psychic distance, and then zoom in to get close to the character without actually slipping into first-person. Although...now that I think about it, the last line probably fuggs it up. Oh well. I had to keep it under 200 words (and failed, actually; it's 205), so I couldn't make the last line "close" to her.
Anyway, I'm calling it "Red," and I will probably do more work on it, even if I can't really use it for workshop because it's so short. I guess it'll end up being a flash fiction story. Well, unless I come up with something I feel I should add, but I think it could exist as flash. :-)
Red
The girl was removing her rouge and singing jazz classics when the wolves finally came. She’d heard them crying, and was frightened, of course, but she’d never let fear run her life. She didn’t care for that kind of thing.
“Sarah Harper,” she told herself, “don’t you be a ‘fraidy cat!” Sarah continued rubbing cleanser on her face—firmly, but not so hard that she’d go raw and be mistaken for a burn victim the next morning and rushed to the hospital or something.
When they scratched the door and pretended they had knocked and said, “Let us in, let us in,” she looked at the doorknob suspiciously. She thought she’d heard a scratch, but maybe it was a knock. She put down her cleansing pad and went to the door to let in chaos.
The wolves leaped, scratched, clawed, dug. In a rage, they tore her pretty face open like a hunter gutted deer. They fooled and embarrassed her, shamed and disfigured her. They made her bruised and swollen and ugly. And red. So much red. She abhored the red—the blood and the raw, puffy, mangled mess that now masqueraded as a feminine face.
Sarah woke up the next morning in the hospital.
“Sarah Harper,” she told herself, “don’t you be a ‘fraidy cat!” Sarah continued rubbing cleanser on her face—firmly, but not so hard that she’d go raw and be mistaken for a burn victim the next morning and rushed to the hospital or something.
When they scratched the door and pretended they had knocked and said, “Let us in, let us in,” she looked at the doorknob suspiciously. She thought she’d heard a scratch, but maybe it was a knock. She put down her cleansing pad and went to the door to let in chaos.
The wolves leaped, scratched, clawed, dug. In a rage, they tore her pretty face open like a hunter gutted deer. They fooled and embarrassed her, shamed and disfigured her. They made her bruised and swollen and ugly. And red. So much red. She abhored the red—the blood and the raw, puffy, mangled mess that now masqueraded as a feminine face.
Sarah woke up the next morning in the hospital.
Wow, it makes me think I don't want you getting mad at me - ha! Interesting - What is the relationship between Sarah and the wolves? Is this a take on red riding hood? How does she know the wolves were coming for her? I would be interested in reading the expanded version as I'm sure you will answer these questions...intriguing.
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