WE ARE DELIGHTED TO HAVE OUR TEAM MEMBER AND AUTHOR, DAWN TREACHER, WHO HAS MET THE FLASH FICTION CHALLENGE WITH HER STORY 'SHOCKING PINK'

Shocking Pink

I never live my life in the shade, keeping to the shadows. I live my life in full colour. Flamboyant, out spoken, I want to be noticed, to stand out. To shout and be shouted about, picked out in a crowd and acknowledged. I’m all the shades of the rainbow, like a fully stocked wool shop, the full vista of vibrant colours. But then, that’s what I want you to see; the public persona, the bubbly me. I’m ashamed to say that’s not the real me. Underneath, I’m the muted shade of olive grey, the ball of wool in a discarded box discounted but still unsold.

I was the girl no-one wanted to sit next to at school, my clothes were too plain, my hair shapeless, my voice so quiet I could hardly be heard. I’d watched those around me get invited to parties, have best forever friends and kiss the boys. They led a life I was too scared to enter, hovering on the edge but never stepping into, too scared to try. People couldn't believe I could be related to my mother, a woman who lived her life in front of the cameras, photographed with only the most beautiful and richest of people. I’d sit on the end of her bed and watch her put on her makeup, tease out her rich auburn curls and slip on the most gorgeous of dresses. I was the ugly duckling, the daughter of a beautiful swan, only I hadn’t grown free of my drab feathers. I was never destined to be that swan.

Or so I thought. So everyone thought, even my mother who stopped taking me out anywhere the cameras might follow. She tried to dress me, improve what nature had given me but when I didn’t meet her standards, her expectations, she simply lost interest, like everyone else. I shrank back into my shadow. Even the muted shades I once possessed leached out of me, but then I overheard the words my mother didn't realise I could hear, words spoken to another, not meant for my ears, most definitely not for the cameras.

“It’s all bullshit, darling. I toss and turn all night, I analyse all the reasons I shouldn’t do it, then, then I paint on my face, become what the world worships and can’t get enough of. And here I am, darling.”

The first day I tried was a year after my mother died, worshipped in death as she had been in life. I slipped on her crimson chiffon dress and stepped into her silver shoes. A streak of lipstick and I could almost pretend to be her. With every step across the bedroom floor I felt a little bit more like her, so I splashed on her perfume and curled my hair. Even I didn’t recognise myself. When the cameras first caught sight of me leaving the house they chased after me as if I was my mother’s secret love child and had just shown my face. I was giddy with excitement. For those short few minutes I was no longer olive grey, I was a shocking pink, the brightest ball of wool in the shop. It didn’t matter what was underneath, no-one was going to look. They see what they want to see. Now some days I act better than my mother.

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COMING SOON: On Wednesday, 16th July, we are pleased to host author, Jon Mason, who is sharing a chapter of his novel 'The Blooding of Brian Blake'.