Linas, Sarah Rose M.

CW 12-HUMSS Flash Fiction Word Count: 548

Front Row

I’ve always liked sitting on front rows.

            Nothing beats the crisp sounds that bounces back almost realistically by
those humongous, ancient speakers. Also, the feeling of being one of the first people to
see and appreciate the scenes without annoying people passing by now and
then cannot even be equated to a winning lotto ticket.

It was a breezy evening when I found myself watching a bit of a bawdy scene.

The peeling pastel wallpapers were a sight but the mixtape albums in the corner were
giving the place a grunge feel. There was also this old Madonna poster in front of a
closet door.

Well, I thought it was old because the edges were tearing and sodden.

There were no clothes or junk strewn on the wooden floor but the ambience reek
of a filthy musky scent; a familiar brew of forbidden aroma.

A young man- roughly around the age of sixteen entered the room with a girl in
curls wearing a pink frilly frock. She was probably a few years younger than me; maybe
around six or four. My first thought when I saw her was how lucky she was to wear her
hair like that. My mom would tell me that I looked like a blob with no neck if I tried to
style mine like that again.

            Not much was going on until the boy grabbed the girl by the wrists to face him
as if she was just a raggedy Anne doll. It was nothing new for me because growing up
with boys, I knew they were rash to play with.

Nonetheless, I felt the hotness of his breath on my cheeks as he uttered, “Eat

this. It’ll taste good. I promise you”, over and over, almost like an enchantment
with amplified eagerness.

I shook away the buoyant heaviness inside my skull and the quivering tension
that rose from the soles of my feet towards my thighs. I wished I wore my jeans instead
of this dress that my mom forced me to wear.  
Linas, Sarah Rose M. CW 12-HUMSS Flash Fiction Word Count: 548

            I noticed the young man’s eyes. They were nothing peculiar about their
chocolate hues with auburn streaks on the iris. I think if I made this scene up, I would’ve
given him piercing emerald-green ones. It would’ve suited him better.

            It was both bothersome and comforting to have this airy feeling inside my head
as the action in front of me unfolded through a bird’s eye view perspective. I couldn’t
remember the girl’s exact face features; only her refined curls. The scene bared how the
strands of her hair wandered on her porcelain-like cheeks and bounced freely on her
shoulders as her head bobbed up and down. I couldn’t feel her emotions. Bad acting, I
thought.

            The curtains went up. I just adored sitting on these front-row seats. It almost felt
as if we were actually part of the story which was nice except when it’s a horror show.
The lights went down and I saw this girl onstage in her Sunday’s best; a pink one
specifically, styled with her ironed straight hair along with the rowdy curls estranged on
her forehead. She was sitting on the front row on a cinema-like setup.

Ugh, I thought to myself. She could’ve used a bit of color on her cheeks.