Friday, 23 August 2013


JournalWord: Bubble gum.


She blows a pink bubble as she waits for her savior from the dull crowd.

Her slinky silver dress sparkles under the undying shine of the chandeliers, casting slivers of light to bounce off the faces of her admirers. They flaunt their European suits and adoration at her like arrows after a scrambling herd, but she dodges their haphazard attempt to ensnare her. They are ready to pounce, but her black, strappy high heels impatiently tap on the tiles, toes facing the exit.

Snapping her gum between her wisdom teeth angrily, she almost neglects to hear the scrambled whining of a waiter chasing after her as she breaks from the mob. 

"Madam, you most certainly cannot be leaving!" he insists desperately when she doesn't slow her strides. "This is your party for the Nobel-"
She interrupts him by swiveling around to face him with a growl tweaking her lips to display her incisors and gums. Spitting her wad of bubblegum into her palm, she slams it onto the empty platter he has been holding up faithfully throughout his run.

He staggers to catch his platter before it tumbles, flabbergasted as she turns back around and spouts, "Don't need it."



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