Sitting under the barely flowering rosebush, she listens to the endless conversations these women were having on their phones. She sips her tea and sits back with a sigh. Why did they have to be so loud?
The woman in the white shawl has tufts of blonde hair framing her angelic face. An angelic face marred by copious bright blue eye shadow, overly rouged cheeks, and lips as crimson as freshly spilt blood. Her voice is the worst.
“Darla,” she shrieks into the phone. “I’ve been waiting for hours. Hours! My tea has gone cold, your tea has gone cold, the biscuits are stale, you’ve ruined everything! I had so much to tell you. In person. I hate phones! You know I hate phones!”
A woman at White Shawled Lady’s back sends her an icy glare with big black eyes. She sniffs haughtily and raises her voice an octave as she sneers into her own phone.
“Come quick, Trevor dearest. There’s a ghastly woman. Reminds me of your mother, actually.”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
The girls smiled at him and acted all nice. Trevor stepped past them, smiling outwardly and sneering inwardly. Acted. That’s what girls did. Was there truly a nice one? Mean spirited harpies. All of them. His mother, his sister, even dear Jan had a demonic spirit buried in that head of hers, ready to be unleashed upon him when he least expected it.
Now he always expected it.
It would be coming. Soon.
The park gallery was emptier than usual. Unsurprising. It wasn’t exactly the most pleasant of days and it wasn’t the most pleasant of parks. The flowers were barely blooming and the trees were as droopy as a nanna’s tits. The wrought iron seating scattered about the grounds were in ill-repair, and there she was. Jan. With her big black eyes, staring at him as he approached, waiting for him, preparing to yell at him for not coming quick enough to save her from another harpy’s shrill voice.
Harpies. The lot of them.
A silent woman sipped tea near the rose bush. A thirsty looking bush with only two sad flowers. She was probably a harpy too.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
“Trevor!” Black Eyed Woman exclaims, her voice singing across the open grass. “You’re here. Thank the Lord. Please tell me you drove. I can’t get away from here quick enough.” She shoots a glare at White Shawled Lady.
“Jan,” the handsome young man who just arrived pauses before folding his arms across his chest. “No. I walked. You lost the credit card, remember? Can’t buy anything until the replacement arrives.”
“What!?” Black Eyed Woman — Jan — shrieks, louder and shriller than White Shawled Lady could ever hope to wail.
The sky darkens. An eerie breeze gusts through grey clouds and spirals down to the parklands, sweeping a smattering of fallen leaves in its path. Jan’s eyes grow impossibly darker as she glares at the young man, standing awkwardly in front of her like an abused puppy who still wants to please its owner.
The woman beneath the barely flowering rose bush drains the last of her tea and closes her eyes. Maybe tomorrow she should stay at home.
It’s time for the Weekend Freewrite – where you write three five-minute freewrites with three different prompts and hope that you can make a story out of them. The prompts have been bolded and italicised in the story and you can find them at @mariannewest’s blog, and also:
The image used for my header is CC0 and courtesy of Pixabay.
Thanks for reading!
|Smashwords||eBook||Buy on Smashwords||Your Own Price|
|Barnes & Noble||eBook||Buy on Barnes & Noble||$2.83 USD|
|Amazon||Kindle||Buy on Amazon||$3.99 AUD|