The water dribbles down her chin, past the valley in between her breasts, over the unsightly bulge that is her abdomen, down her legs before it pools, swirls and disappears into the drain. The sight of dark, coiled, black hair disturbs her even as she twirls the chunk of loose hair that seems to fall endlessly from her head around her fingers and drops it to add to the already circling mass. She struggles to bend down, scrub her feet, rub away the caked on moisturizer at her ankles. She is out of breath as she lifts her unevenly heavy top half and faces the shower.

For a fleeting moment, she wonders what it would be like to have a second bloom like the magnolias and the dogwoods in her yard. A second chance at clear skin, svelte body lines, snatched waist and, perky breasts. She is fascinated by the idea, that to be middle aged, financially secure, the worst of her worries behind her whilst she navigates a new life. One where she is in charge. One where she draws the boundaries. One in which she is the main character. One in which she is aware of the red flags, knows what products work on her, what foods to avoid, how to stave off diabetes. One in which she is the one who writes her history.

She anoints her face with snail mucin, follows it up with a moisturizer that has hyaluronic acid and, lines her eyes with kajal. She pats her skin, a dab, dab to encourage it to behave. She pulls on her long underwear, one she found on Amazon after hours of browsing. No chafe, cotton blend, does not ride down or roll up. The reviews were glowing and she hopes they were right. It hits a little below her waist, dividing the ample belly into two. She slips on her bright, flowy, floral print dress. The one that has heft and cinches her bosom. It is supposed to give her body shape. Instead all she can see is how broad her body is, how hopeless it all feels.

Her body deflates, her shoulders slope. She walks out of the bathroom defeated.

“Sorry, I am not feeling good. I am not coming.”

She texts her girl group before heading straight to bed and pulling the covers back up.

Fiction Flash Fiction Women's Fiction Depression Fiction Flash Fiction Menopause Toying with ideas for a new book Women