Wasted Passage

Just a bit of flash-fic

 

The sunned out street’s drenched in gasoline and coffee stains, a musk gentle in the stale breeze. She eats up the pavement with her cat walk; long and tight Autolux tee tucked into grey cut offs, sporting pale skinny legs and violet cowboy boots.  Lengthy hazel hair falls just above her low-key breasts, a chest defiant in midst of a vivacious thunder. Eliza walks in a volatile strut, arms jaggedly stabbing to an awkward beat as she bops along to her headphones.

“What a wasted passage.” she thought.

”such a disgusting way to go”

It was then, that it hit her. The very thing she had been thinking about ploughed straight into her 100 mph, followed by an intense swarm of ex SAS, a thousand flashes a second. She had walked into a train wreck, the medias latest train wreck, Sally Rumshack.  Boiling Constellationcuck coffee pirouettes in the air as Eliza falls on her bony arse. With the poise of a drunken sailor, Sally Rumshack gets back to her feet with a move reminiscent of the way kung fu stars flip back up, with a dash of limbo for good measure. Lost in the noise, scolding coffee working its way into her glazed milky arms, Eliza encounters heaven; the swarm of paparazzi long gone to leave a pocket of bystanders standing round like a scene from Hollywood.

 

“Are you all right dear?”

The old lady, camera phone in one hand shaven rat dog in the other, enquires.

“She’s a frightful one that Rumshack, rudest young lady to win a Grammy”

Someone offers Eliza a hand whilst the video camera boy rewinds and studies his new rushes, his friend already on Ucube.com ready to upload. Mobile phones start to buzz, a lone reporter who moonlights as a divorce lawyer jumps in on the action as his partner, a divorce lawyer who moonlights as a gossip columnist cranks up the laptop; casually sitting astride a pink and pea green Scooter.  

 

Fifteen minutes and 3 televised interviews later and Eliza finally reaches the cemetery, anxious to quicken her annual visit so she can get back online and update her blog. She explains what happened to the obsidian tombstone, stooping low to lay down the off-licence flowers. The sun sets.