10-minute word war

With a sigh, she finished the last page of her favourite novel, with its dog-eared cover and curled pages. That may have been the last thing she could actually savour in this life. A corny B-series vampire novel by a virtually unknown author, who had died of a heroin overdose in a strip motel somewhere off highway six on the outskirts of Orlando. Her favourite book, and its brilliant characters, seemed just as doomed as she. It was time; she had decided this a long time ago, but she wanted everything to be just right. And tonight, it would be.

She picked up her great-grandmother’s inky wool shawl and draped it across her shoulders. There was a chill in the crisp October air, and she sure as heck wasn’t going to spend her last minutes shivering. She gave her bedroom one long, last look. Everything she wanted immediately read was on clear display, and everything else was set in its perfectly orchestrated layout. Stage one was perfect. On to the next step.

Just around the corner from her room, the master bath. She had convinced her parents/boyfriend in a tremendously odd request to have everything tiled in glossy while three inch squares. Oh, and a roman bathtub with lion’s paw feet. Somehow, this was how she pictured it and this was how it was going to be.

She glanced in the mirror; her freshly-set ebony hair reflected the harsh halogen spotlights in the ceiling. She wasn’t sure whether by the time they’d find her, she would have slipped into the water and ruined the effect, but on the odd chance that she would still be in position, she set her long curls with her mother’s hot rollers. How quaint, how old-fashioned, how vampire pinup.

Slowly, she began to disrobe, again paying so close attention to where every item was to be lain. Her clothes per se weren’t of tremendous importance, they just served to enhance the setup. She did, however, pull own her lavender satin robe and her best lingerie. Once she had set these last pieces on the chair by the bath, she started the water, as hot as she could bear it. At the moment she entered the water, she thought it would redden her skin, and she frowned. She consoled herself in that she wouldn’t be found for hours, so her usual pallor would have time to return. She sank deep into the tub, taking care not to wet her hair. With a rapid flick of the wrist, she slit her wrists and laid back with her arms overhanging the tub’s edge. Her blood flowed freely, seeping into the grout of her perfectly tiled room.

It was a successful escape; she was found the next morning, in exact accordance with her wishes.

(465)