“Moving Parts (a flash fiction freestyle)”

Jennifer Shalon looked around in disgust, but darted to the first thing on her mind. As she approached the first drawn curtains, a slight brush against the heavy velvet sent dust particles through the dark space, grudgingly letting in a sliver of light. She reached for her hair, first, and then furiously began fanning the space between herself and said curtain, which she yanked and spread open as if light would take revenge. She sneezed, high-pitched; once, at first; then a succession that was interrupted when Gerald Offerman, her beau of a few on and off years, spoke, “babe, I told you to put your mask on. This place is filthy.” Jennifer turned and threw her hands to the sky as though she was caught doing something wrong, red-handed.

“I don’t want to mess up my lip gloss.”

“You wanted to stop by and see it. I didn’t think you’d come in and start a demolition job.”

“You know I can’t stand a mess, Gerald,” she would say, wiping at her sleek, form-fitting, burnt orange pencil skirt. Her tank top, tucked neatly inside, as her behind jiggled a couple of times more, after each reach to the curtain rod; it was bent, tearing from the wall, and the off alignment perturbed her.

“We’ll be back next week, when we come to mom’s services…”