Fugitive

Copyright Janet Webb

She could still hear the slow, twisting strains of the violins, could still see the forever turning, turning, turning glory of a thousand blazing ball gowns and the softly, softly shuffle of four thousand dancing feet, four thousand near-silent scuffs multiplying, entwining, deafening.

 

But only in her dreams.

 

The band played on, as she woke into the harsh, grey dawn. The city stirred already, awakening with the early-morning metropolitan songs – the grumbling roar of garbage trucks, echoed in the droning of uncountable cars, taxi cabs, motorbikes, buses. The whistling shriek of the spider-web train lines, already transporting the anonymous masses, dragging the horde, there and back again.

 

Sighing, she collapsed back into the bed, allowing the soft mattress to embrace her.

 

Someday, her prince would come.

 

Someday.

 

Until then it was better to just blend in.

 

Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers. Let me know what you think!

 

 

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8 thoughts on “Fugitive

  1. Dear Chris,

    You certainly nailed the city’s sounds and sites. The last line clinches the deal. Good one.

    shalom,

    Rochelle

  2. Love the sweeping image of a dance you portrayed here!

  3. Glad I didn’t miss your story, Chris. Well done.

    janet

  4. Joe Owens says:

    I can hear her humming “Some day my prince will come,” just like Cinderella.

  5. stankmeaner says:

    So weird and so good – you took a lot of cool chances playing with words and they really worked here, it’s like a song with a touch of steampunk. It sort of reminds me of the dream ball sequence in Labrynth (if you’re not too young to have seen that 😉

    • Thanks, I love to play with words, and I’m glad you think it worked! I’m not too young to have seen Labyrinth, although I didn’t watch it as a kid (more of a Drak Crystal and Neverending Story guy…)

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