Merrilee twisted the tube of ruby red lipstick and drew her mouth into a heart. She powdered her face and swirled peachy rouge on her cheeks. She took one last look in the mirror and reached for the Muguet, her favorite, and sprayed it on each side of her neck just under the ears, on each wrist, and a poof on her throat.
She hopped down from the bench and clomped in shoes much too large for her across the bedroom and down the hall to her own room.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” she greeted the three who sat waiting for her at the small table. “How lovely of you to have come.” She poured out pretend tea with a gracious smile. She sat and took a sip of her tea, then held out a plate of make-believe cookies.
A woman came up and stood in the doorway. She shook her head at the sight in Merrilee’s room. “Have you been in my things again?” She sounded annoyed but not really angry.
Merrilee started to cry. The woman came over and knelt down by her chair.
“Oh, it’s all right, Mother, it’s all right. You look very pretty today.”
Susan Gibb is a dedicated reader and writer of fiction and poetry in traditional and hypertext form and is pursuing further study into narrative in new media formats and has taken part in combined arts projects and presentations. Her work has appeared in The Blue Print Review, elimae, metazen, Litsnack, and many others.
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