Oh, it's been a long time since I indulged myself in writing a bit of flash fiction for one of Angela's Visual Dare prompts. I've missed it. I look forward to checking out the links to others' stories, too, and I hope you'll join me in doing so.
She stood balanced on a pedestal in the center of the room. Her rent depended on this gig, on not moving a muscle, but doing so took every ounce of her concentration.
He was walking away from her, and she might never see him again. It had been 17 years, but she remembered their bitter words as if it had been yesterday.
“You bastard! How could you leave at a time like this?” she’d screamed.
“I have to, Susan, I just have to. You wouldn’t understand.” He’d never looked back.
Then he’d had the emaciated look of the drug addict he was. Now, he wore a Brooks Brothers suit. She wondered if he’d recognized her under the pewter paint that covered every inch of her bare skin.
Seventeen years since he’d left her beside her mother’s deathbed. A tear rolled down her motionless cheek. Could she choose her rent over her brother?
(The photo credit can be found on the Anonymous Legacy webpage.)