Happy Sunday! Maybe it’s the June gloom that’s settled over southern California. Or maybe it’s the palm fonds slapping at my window. Whatever the reason, I’ve decided to pull out an excerpt from my WIP, an experimental novel.
SIX SENTENCE SUNDAY:
It was the height of the disco era. I was in my three-piece yellow polyester suit and my blue and white cotton blouse, the one with those BAN anti perspirant stains. My fingers held the barrette that refused to stay in my hair even though my mother had given me a home perm – I still smelled like ammonia – before taking me to my first R-rated movie. I was ten and I wanted to be someone, anyone, though mainly I longed to be C, with her monogrammed towels and her name with no vowels and her wise mother Nancy who never raised her golden toned voice or had spaghetti sauce splattered across the wide bust of her green and white Hawaiian print dress beneath the rust belt, the hub of broken axels, broken windows, broken daydreams.You know what I mean jelly-bean, it was one of those times you’re a day late and a dollar short. Well I was having one of those decades which is a pretty big problem when you’re only ten.
Please check out this week’s other six sentence Sunday selections at: http://www.sixsunday.com/search/label/2011