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Writer's pictureRosetta Famellette

Flash Fiction: Princess

Hello everyone! I hope your week has been going well. I spent the weekend visiting family, but I still have a flash fiction short story! I tried something a bit different than normal this week. Here are the prompts;

Character 1: A person in their 0s, who can be quite dizzy

Character 2: A person in their 40s, who is never dizzy.

Setting: The story starts in a photography studio.

Theme: It is a story about aging.


 

“Just one more twirl, sweetie.”

I nod and spin around again while mom takes my picture, the shutter clicking as she desperately tries to capture the motion.

“There we are!” She exclaims with a clap.

I try to regain my balance, putting my hand on the wall. I run to see the picture afterwards. 

“Jada, what’s wrong?”

“My hair isn’t long enough.” I look up at mom. 

She laughs, walking towards a closet.

“Well if you’d told me, I could’ve given you this before hand.”

She reveals a long black wig and walks back to me. She takes off my tiara and crowns me with the wig. She slips the tiara into its long strands and turns me to face the mirror.

“How’s that?”

“I love it!” I shout, running to face the camera and twirling. 

“Take another before I get dizzy!”

Mom does just that, managing to capture the perfect twirl. Then she grabs a chair from the corner.

“Can I have a picture with my little princess?” She asks.

“Of course!” I nod.

Mom puts me on her lap and triggers the shutter, freezing this blissful moment in time forever.

----

I turn on the lights to an empty waiting room. The studio closed on Saturdays, meaning it’s the perfect day to get some pictures for myself. I pass the front desk and unlock the studio door, underwhelmed by the darkness even though I know it’s going to be dark.  

I shut the door behind me and set up the tripod, aiming the camera into the void. I fix my dress in the mirror, hiding my bra strap under the fluffy sleeves. If only mom could see how long my hair is now. She was the one who supported my journey, the one who helped me save for my first estrogen treatment, who gave me my first dress, who helped me pick my name. But she’s not here to see what her love has become. The caring daughter she knew I could be.

I put on my tiara and stand in front of the camera. I start the shutter, taking ten or so shots at a time until I get the perfect one. I know how she felt back then, it’s hard to capture motion.

I retrieve the chair and sit down, smiling at the camera to freeze this bittersweet moment in time forever. 


 

Enjoy your week,

-Rosetta 💖



A bejeweled tiara sits on fabric.
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