Prompt from WriteWorld
Another writing prompt! As you can tell, this one was originally from my Tumblr Archives – all the ones that you see with an image generally are from the wonderful wonderful site WriteWorld. I moved them here but I couldn’t bear to remove these. As poorly written as they are. This one’s about a glamourous girl and a dead body. I think that’s really all you do need to know about this story.
She remembered the girl-turned-woman in the high school – Asha, the one who had gotten through puberty without so much a scratch. Privately, she had suspected she had beaten up the hormones and held them to ransom until they made her into… this. This beauty. This perfection. The neatly coiffed curls falling over an eye, lips parted into a sultry pout, bronzed skin.
They joked she had wanted to be a woman – and deemed herself to be one – the moment she could walk and vocalize her thoughts. Her dress and makeup reflected that: she was sexy, but never too revealing; classy, but never forced; extravagant at times, but never gaudy. That fine line she had down to a science so very long ago, the envy of so many women and the desire, the deepest fantasies of other men. When she walked down the street, people stopped and stared – she wore her confidence on her sleeve, and it shone brighter than any street light. Yet that was then, and now was now.
The perfect picture she was remained immortalized in a photograph frame, brightly polished silver, simple, elegant, without the ostenatious embellishments. A hand was on her chin, coy, enough for that unmistakable hint. The room she lived in would have been tinged with the aroma of floral scents, but now it took on a familiar, dreaded, steely edge.
She almost couldn’t recognize Asha on the floor, hair shaved, bald, as though mocking her vanity. Her face was turned to a side, but looking at it made her stomach churn. It was only from the preliminary DNA analysis that they could determine her identity. Beneath her, the blood pool spread, almost gifting her a pair of angel wings.
One more moment was taken to absorb the scene, and she set her lips into a thin line, camera at hand, forensic tools at her belt. She had work to finish now, and she was dead. The only present she could give her now was truth – and perhaps then, there would be peace.