She admired herself.
Dark curls danced around the oval of her face.
Limpid eyes that enticed,
framed by the perfect arch of her questioning brows.
The haughty gracefulness
of her high cheekbones. The cupid bow mouth that always hid a smirk within its
smile, she was often told.
She should have been a
little taller, was a common verdict but she secretly thought she was just
right. Her body, a geometry of perfectly placed curves, and fullness.
She, the envy of women
and the dream of men setting alight the silver screen, looked away from the fading
photograph on the wall and sighed, as another gulp of whisky burned a familiar
trail down her throat and the welcome numbness of the tranquilizer began
setting in.
Yes, she had the
potential.
If only people could
have seen it.
30 years ago.
This post is written for Wordy Wednesday, the word prompt for which was Potential
This post is written for Wordy Wednesday, the word prompt for which was Potential