So it had to be said. I’m having a writing ailment that I think affects us all. I can’t settle on anything to work on. Consequently I have like a million things half-finished. But I decided to post one that I’m kind of scared of actually. The story is in no way erotic, except of course that the main character is obsessively lovesick. And I often think about how I would be in that situation: dangerously in love with someone that doesn’t love me back. What would I do? Would I react rationally or jump over the edge into crazy land. Its always interested me– that line between unconditional and obsessive love. Anyway… I’m offering for review….
“Alright, Mrs. Marshall, this won’t hurt a bit,” Caroline said as she began scraping the fine grained sandpaper over the scarring on her forehead. “Just a little smoothing to make the foundation go on easier.” She always talked to them—her clients, as she liked to think of them. It made her feel better about it and justmaybe it would help them on their way to resting in peace. “You wouldn’t believe all the people in town are just devastated over your passing. People really loved you, you know.”
It was true. Almost everyone in town knew Mrs. Marshall and thought very highly of her.
She leaned down and examined the wound closer before brushing off the dried skin away that had flaked off. “Almost. Mr. Bauer did an excellent job with these sutures. They shouldn’t be hard to cover at all.” A few more passes with the sandpaper and she was done. She rummaged through the collection of jars in her box until she found a small jar of modeling wax. “A little of this should be just the thing.” She smoothed a bit of the wax over the scar and began blending it with her fingertips until the scar was little more than a slight indentation. “There now, good as new.”
Caroline stood back and admired her handiwork. She’d managed to cover the bruising and remove most of the blood from Mrs. Marshall’s hair. “A little makeup and a couple of touch-ups with the hair crayon and you’ll be beautiful.” She looked down at the old woman and smiled, beginning to see a shade of
the vibrant teacher she had once been. Mrs. Marshall had been a beautiful woman in her youth. She could remember her grandmother telling her about how when they were teenagers, Esther Marshall had been the town beauty queen with long, voluminous red hair, a killer smile and a glowing personality to match. She hoped she could help her family remember those things.
An hour later, she stood over the big industrial sink washing the remnants of foundation and lipstick off of her hands. She was satisfied with her work today and felt good about it. People didn’t realize how important her work really was. Folks wanted to remember their family members the way they were in life. This would be the last time they would get to see their mother, grandmother, sister or aunt. It was important to give them a nice memory and Caroline felt that she had done that.