She Wears Hot Pink Jeans
My soul has kidnapped me and is in the driver’s seat. She looks like me but wears hot pink jeans with rhinestones and her hair flies around the steering wheel like Isadora. She flashes iridescent sparks in the twilight and smells of rosewater, sweat and coffee grounds.
“I’m the one who should drive,” I shout but she stares straight ahead. My eyes grow dim as the road passes.
“You have no right to take my car,” I say.
“Oh, is that so?” she laughs over the roar of the engine. “What are your few years of wisdom compared to my thousands? ”
I grab her belt but it burns my hand.
“Hey, you better put the seatbelt on,” she says. “You’re in for one helluva ride…”
Her laughter peals over my head as she drives by a graffitied church. “Do you know where your soul is?” Uncle Sam asks, aiming a painted finger at me. The writing on the wall fades as we race past twisted fig trees, towards a cliff. Flames lick the wheels. I grab my soul, hold down her arms, struggle to control the steering wheel. She spits at me.
“Since when does a soul spit?” I ask.
“When a body doesn’t listen,” she says and slaps me. “Wake up for Heaven’s sake! Those gates won’t stay open forever.”
I dig my nails into her hands but she laughs.
“Slow down! I can’t think,” I shout.
“You think too much,” she says.
“Take me home,” I beg, arms now wrapped around her.
“How can I? You won’t let me.” She slams her foot on the accelerator, swerves to avoid an oncoming car and crashes into metal side rails.
I hear her moan as she lies skewered on a rosebush, shredded over thorns, hot pink jeans ripped, rhinestones crushed.
“I surrender,” I say. “I surrender.”
“It’s too late,” she whispers. “Now, you must travel the road alone.”
A fog descends and the rosebush vanishes.
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Amazing short. One of the best I have read in a long while! A sort of black humor mixed with an eerie sense of dreading. Implies so much.
What I find enchanting about Kaye Linden’s story are the pictures she creates with words , a natural skill that thankfully she has cultivated. Flash fiction is the perfect medium for this. Deceptively offhand. the story is closely woven illuminating the unforgettable images of the things we cover up.
What a spin out! This author is going places. Thanks, Ms. Linden, for a great read.
Kaye Linden She Wears Hot Pink Jeans is an amazing, descriptive portrayal of the battle we all endure between our inner selves and our minds. Fantastic read.
Delightful story. Good job, Kaye.
This soul may have sped out of control and crashed, but we will never have to travel the road alone if we have Kaye Linden’s hot (pink) fiction to accompany us!
Rosewater, sweat, and coffee grounds–I am so glad these three are together. I have noticed all the little details that are interwoven into your narrative, and when melded into the fabric of your work, they seem to work an almost unnameable effect upon my experience of your fiction. I hope to see more stuff that makes my soul feel pink and somehow dangerously exposed.
I was interested, Dan, in what you think is implied vs. what is here. Could you elaborate?