L'aura del Campo

His High Heels

His High Heels

Quentin kicked off his heels. No use on cobblestone, not a meter of smooth pavement in sight. He would have felt naked if his toenails weren't newly painted. He put the heels in his purse, adjusted his tiara, scowled at the "NO SKIPPING" sign. He sighed, resigned to walking like the peasants. After a few blocks his tendons ached back. How are you? someone greeted. Quentin smirked, I'm fine. The young woman nodded, unaware of his sarcasm. It'll rain today. Hope you remembered your umbrella. Quentin quickened his pace. It wouldn't do to get his new hairdo wet and runny mascara made him scary, even to himself. Once back in his room he looked at his last jar of quince jelly. He opened it, grabbed a spoon and drowned his sorrows.

© Kåre Enga [175.253] (7.oktober.2018)

131 words as per 10/15