by Alison DeLuca
I felt Snow’s breath on my neck after class. “Prince is mine,” she breathed. “Watch your ass.” I turned to say something, but she was already in motion, followed by her fangirls. Or boys—it was hard to tell.
Apples. I had to research apples for a science project. Besides, the library would be a safe place. AC splintered on my cheeks as I sat at a table and opened a book.
Apple trees take five years to produce their first fruit.
Another breath on my neck, but it was warm and male. “Hey,” Prince said. I concentrated on the page in front of me as he sat in the chair across from me.
The science of apple-growing is called pomology.
His foot nudged mine. I closed my notebook. Prince looked up and started to say something. I ignored him.
There was a bathroom in the far corner of the library. The air was even colder in there. I entered the last stall, opened my purse, and took it out. The mirror.
Apples belong to the rose family.
The baggie was small and half-filled with a white powder. I cut out two lines, rolled up a twenty, and snorted.
My own face looked back at me, dusted with snow. “Get rid of her,” the girl in the mirror whispered.
The rush hit me, and I dropped the mirror on the floor. Dark blood streaked down my skin when the silver glass shattered. Red on white. Snow.
5 comments:
Awesome, Alison!
Very clever. Nicely done!
Very evocative! Nice use of the familiar to go to new places, and very nice images and descriptions.
I like the interlacing of apples and blossoms with your imagery.
Thanks so much for the wonderful feedback, as well as the chance to showcase our work. I love reading all the different stories and responses to the original prompt!
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