Odd Prompts: Belladonna

A piece of flash fiction, or a vignette, as you please. 

***

The mirror reflected her own face, and the dark room behind here. She’d drawn all the drapes herself, long before she’d fallen into bed... somewhere in the early hours of the morning. Now, it would be broad daylight outside, yet it was dark as night inside. She wasn’t focused on her reflection, despite her eyes lingering on the glass. She knew what she’d see. Blonde hair limp and draggled from the neat marcelled style of the night before. Eyes shadowed by too little sleep, and swollen from too much alcohol. Cheeks gaunt by too little food. She’d drunk her dinner. Again. 

The silk of her negligee stirred on the back of her neck, and she snaked an arm around her body to pull it closer. The damned draft. She’d told the housemaid to shut the fireplace damper... There was a movement in the reflecting glass, and her eyes snapped into focus. 

The woman staring over her shoulder was swaying slightly. Her shoulders drooped under the blue dress she wore, and she had no hat, no coat, no stockings. Bare feet shoved into white slippers stood on the intricate rug. Her hands had no gloves, and the reflected woman wondered at her own thoughts, lingering on the unimportant social details, when the little black gun wavering in the other woman’s hand should have been foremost. 

The woman in the pink negligee made an effort. She folded her hands in her lap, ignoring the flutters of the pink silk chiffon on her too-tender skin. 

“Why did you come?” She locked eyes in the mirror with the other. Falling into deep shadowed pools of despair. 

“You know.” The woman took a halting, dragging step nearer. Her movements on the thick rug were soundless. Her eyes swallowed up the faded blue eyes that looked at her steadily. 

“Do I?” There was a tinkle of a laugh, and then the woman in pink leaned towards the glass, casually picking up a powder puff. “Really.” 

The muzzle of the gun was just as round and black as the teary eyes. “Can you not?” 

“No. I refuse, while you wave that nasty thing around. Do drop it. My dear, what have you done to your eyes?” 

A trickle of silvery wetness ran from the corner of the weeping woman’s mouth as she spoke. “The belladonna tasted of bitter blueberry and regret.” 

She pulled the trigger. The glass shattered, but the pink woman could see the red rose bloom on her bosom in one of the shards still caught in the frame. Behind her there was a soft thud as the gun fell. The gurgle of a last breath. The falling of a chair. 

Two dead, the headlines said. 

****

My prompt this week came from Fiona Grey with "The belladonna tasted like bitter blueberry and regret." 

I prompted Becky Jones with "A toasted fractal marshmallow" 

You can read all the responses, or play along yourself, over at MOTE. 

Header image from Flickr under creative commons license.