She could feel her throat closing. She could feel herself slowly suffocating with each passing second. Beads of sweat began to roll down her body. Feathers, Feathers, Feathers. The feathers were everywhere. Yellow, fluffy, delicate, delightful feathers were floating up her nostrils, crawling into her throat. Each fluffy little finger wrapped itself around her windpipe, tickling her tonsils, toying with and taunting her. Then, the flashing, bright lights in every direction. Now she was blind... she must be dying...
Lola woke up in a cold sweat...again... screaming "I will be the best damn showgirl there has ever been. I WILL!" She shook off the dream that had haunted her ever since...ever since...the incident. It had been months, but she remembered it vividly, but no, she mustn’t think about it now.
She was going to be the best showgirl anyone had ever seen. She had been practicing for years, perfecting her high-heeled walks and routines in her room at night as her mother poked at the ceiling with a broom while screaming for her to knock it off. On her eighteenth birthday she got in her car and began her journey to see if she could make it big in Vegas. Poor Lola had never been out of New Amsterdam, Indiana, so 347 wrong turns later she exited the ramp off overpass 19 into Washington Heights, Baltimore instead of Vegas.
Already lost and utterly exausted, she decided she would stay a while in Washington Heights. If she could dazzle the people in this town, so much bigger than her own, she could dazzle the people of Vegas... or so she had thought.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment