Micro fiction

The Elephant Woman

1 minute read

When they were all done, the director yelled cut. She wiped her face and got up from the floor. The man with the dead eyes and rancid breath was still staring at her; the others high-fived and laughed all around. The cameraman said something to the boom operator.

The woman walked naked across the room, balancing her body on the high heel shoes she had been told to wear. They clacked uncomfortably on the marble floor as she made her way to the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She gave herself a moment before stepping into the shower. The water poured cold over her bruised flesh.

At first she felt like throwing up, the foul aftertaste still lingering in her mouth. Then she thought of the money and the overdue bills. Maybe one day the fame, the fans, the flashes. After all, everyone watches it now, it’s not like a thing anymore. Millions.

Closing her eyes, she forced herself to swallow.

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