Motel Angel

Just a short story

You see her. She’s standing there, blonde hair glaringly harsh in the light of the street lamp above her. Blinding. Scoring your retinas. And you see her. You are far enough away that her sharp cone of a manmade halo doesn’t reach you, and you watch.

No, not watch. Never watch. Something much more innocent; curiosity and not intention. Your attention lazily on this girl, in her too high heels, her lips covered with thick layers of waxy color. Hair too bright. Everything about her is too, you decide, with her phone pressed against her ear and her legs unsteady on sexy shoes and her shiny red purse trying desperately to escape the crook of her elbow. She is the brightest thing in the dark street, including the passing cars’ headlights.

A lighter snaps and a cigarette pulls her hand up to her mouth. She’s hung up the phone. Fingers tapping, eyes darting. She’s waiting for something, a boyfriend maybe, or a just a friend. Or maybe she has nothing and she’s waiting for a stranger to pick her up in a yellow cab. You settle on a cab. It would be the only thing just as florescent as her.

And her head turns forward and her poised and pretty feet step her towards the edge of the curb to cross the street.

But then a silver flash of a side mirror snaps her neck and she floats down to the grey sidewalk. Crimson blood in her burning hair. Muddy water on her fancy shoes. Her purse off somewhere with her exiting breath. You run away, far away and fast, from that motel angel and the stain of her blood on the pavement. The whole scene burns the back of your eyes, tainted with her addicting explosion of too much.

A taxi passes you on your way to nowhere. And your mind decides to abandon you somewhere in between 5^th street and life itself.

Author's Note

Grittier than my usual writing I guess but who knows. Don't forget to drop a review!

Reviews

[Legion]

That was an interesting turn of events gazing through the window of life. Kudos.

[Jacob Clifford]

Fantastic descriptions! I could picture the scene very easily in my mind's eye, and the stream of consciousness is a very effective style for this story. The whole time, I was wondering just who this girl is, and what she's doing. I don't know if you want any critiques on this story, so I'll leave it out unless you say otherwise. Very good story.

[Contessa]

Thank you so much! I found your helpful in that you recognized the stream of consciousness style to the story, which I wasn't too sure about when I first wrote it. I definitely welcome any constructive criticism you may have, if you're willing to critique this story. Thanks again for the review

[Jacob Clifford]

It's been a little while since I read the story, but the only things I can remember wanting to mention was the second to last paragraph. I get the style you were going for, but the way you described the car hitting her seemed a bit strange to me. Mostly the way she "floats down to the grey sidewalk". Floating doesn't seem accurate to me. Perhaps drop or collapse would work better. Nothing major. Many people don't want criticisms, so I didn't want to give any if it would be offensive.

[Contessa]

thanks. I was actually wondering if that was the right word choice there, so that was really helpful.