Broom (15)

BROOM(15)

I was sat in my chair with no thoughts about cleaning (despite the fly-shit on the walls and the ceiling).

The one with the Hoola-Hoop had my attention:

'This life that I'm living was not my intention.

'I have failed, but I managed as best as I could; I behaved pretty well and learned how to look good, but, things never worked out quite the way that they should.

'I was doomed from the start, it would seem. And, whenever I tried to redeem myself or my life it all ended in strife; it's a nightmare. (I wish I could dream.)'

'Did you ever dream?' I asked.

'Well, therein lies the problem, my sense of direction has never been very acute. (The fact that I couldn't read maps or road plans was ignored on the grounds I was cute.)

'But, as a woman starts ageing, her beauty starts fading; I suddenly found I was old. My poor navigation had no mitigation. Not cute, just an idiot, I'm told.

'So, I reached for the slap and began to make-up. I would put on a face, after all. I would never admit I was so ill-equipped. I would masquerade boldly; walk tall.

'By the end of the day, though, it's easy to see through foundation and powder and rouge.

'It's not easy to paint out a bruise.'