Flash Fiction 1

Her pants are torn up to hell, and she's been toying with the idea of buying a new pair for weeks. She can't afford them is the problem; not on no income - not when she's barely scraping by. Barely keeping herself fed, and a roof over her head. It's a significant accomplishment that she managed to scrape together the dollar fifty to ride the bus.

Sure would be nice, though. A pair of pants with no holes; where her thigh fat wouldn't bubble out through a tear. They would be one less thing to be anxious about in public. One less bullet point on a list of reasons for people to stare at, and dislike, her. (Too fat. Too awkward on her feet. Hair so orange. A hand-me-down look in clothing purchased cheap, and worn to tatters. Toes peeking embarrassingly out of shoes coming apart at the seams.)

She picks at a fraying edge of a hole, and hunches over in her seat at the bus stop. Devastatingly insecure, and wishing she doesn't exist, she's hyper aware of the others milling about while they wait. Someone sits next to her, and she looks up in time to see a smile and hear a "hi." Her face flushes red, and she greets the man back and avoids eye contact.

He stares at her like he wants her to invite him to talk, and she pretends to read the bus schedule for the entire ten minutes it takes for the bus to actually arrive.