Fiction Writing Friday: The Fashion Show


Originally posted 2016-03-11 12:00:13.

A runway carves down the stairs and out into the arena where the captive audience waits. Behind the scenes, a flurry of activity unfolds as clothing is draped, assessed, and claimed. “Where’s my blue barrett?” A girl’s voice shrieks until the item is found among other accessories. It is the big day, the unveiling of the spring/summer line. Everyone who’s anyone is in attendance. It’s the event of the season. Hors d’oeuvres, drinks, and pastries of all varieties are offered and consumed. Ladies wait in their floppy hats and frilly dresses while the photographers eagerly vie for the best positions to watch the models appear.

At last, a catchy tune rings out through the room, the fashion show begins. One by one, the models rock the runway. They are fierce, proud, and elegant in their new frocks. Dresses, bathing suits, pants, skirts, tops, coats, and a myriad of shoes and sandals strut down the runway to approving clicks of photographers and ooh’s and aah’s from the ladies. Designers are congratulated and merchandise ogled and claimed. The crowd favorite, a shiny poofy pink dress, is the prized item this year. The bright spring sunlight plays off of the colors as models flourish and turn, disappearing back into the realm of the dressing room beyond.

Too soon, the feast and fashion are over. The models come out for one last bow in their favorite outfit of the day (of course Ms. Poofy Pink Dress is the leader). They line up in height from tallest to shortest, the smallest this year being only 4 years old.

 

The family applauds as models revert to cousins. The audience of mothers, aunts, and grandmothers disperse to see the horror that was wrought in the bedrooms upstairs where smaller girls grew into clothes abandoned by their bigger cousins to fold, pack, and transport back home. Tiny sandwiches of peanut butter and jelly, $5.00 grocery store cake and cookies, teacups of kool aid, stalks of celery and mac and cheese in fancy bowls are consumed or put away as the feast comes to a close.

A tear grows in a mother’s eye as she watches her daughters play with their cousins, ignoring the creditors interrupting the party with their incessant calling. She silently prays as she removes the phone from the hook: May they always remember the feasts and never the famines.

Misty
Hello everyone! I'm a 30-year old Middle School science teacher, which gets all kinds of reactions. When I'm not teaching, I'm either writing, playing video games, practicing violin, drawing, or reading. I've spent many hours hiking in the woods and have been known to stargaze. I live in Maryland with my awesome, supportive, and loving husband and although we don't have kids yet, my 100+ students keep me busy.