Hi all,
another piece of writing prompt fiction. As befits the topic I had to make a lot of cuts to get this one looking good. The prompts are given below the piece (but can you find where I’ve hidden them in the piece?).
Enjoy!
Pretty comes later.
They come for help but they’re looking in the wrong place.
Beauty is only skin deep, they say.
I nod and tell them what I’m, going to do.
I hate the phrase plastic surgery though it suits the people who come to me. Fake. Disposable. Pathetic. Until I turn them into art.
I give them a number and tell them how much it will hurt and they call.
I tell them it can go wrong and they call.
You can make me pretty, they say.
No. Pretty comes later. First we find your soul. And they think I mean that beauty is only skin deep.
It’s not. Beauty goes all the way through to the bones. Skin covers up beauty. Skin is the enemy.
Fashion comes and goes in waves, art lasts forever. When preserved.
I have them all, beautiful bones, matte organs, spiderwebs of combed tissue.
You’ll be famous. I tell them. You’ll be a work of art.
Will I be pretty?
First we find the message only you can give to the world.
Will I be pretty?
First I take you apart, then I put you back together.
You won’t survive.
Pretty comes later.
The prompts were
number
lace
cover
waves
pat
