A Wrinkle

Pansy followed directions to the man on the sidewalk in a slim suit and Brooks Brothers shoes. His wrist flashed in the summer sun. A ripe plum, pleading to be plucked.

She spied as the dandy tucked his phone in a breast pocket. A black sedan sidled up, and a chauffeur popped out. The suited man crouched to crawl in.

Perfect timing. Pansy strode forward to bump her mark.

He straightened, scowling. “Excuse you, Miss.”

“Excuse you, Mister.”

As he rode away, Pansy fingered the diamond-studded watch in her pocket. As cold as if slipped from a mannequin’s arm.


The Meta-Story:

*Again, I wrote two stories for the prompt, but won’t expect anyone to suffer through another horrific Chloe installment. If interested in reading, the link is here, Burning Angel.

*On a lighter note, I’ve used both words, mannequin and manikin, this week in stories. According to my source, either is acceptable and means the same thing. English is a language, I believe, of unlimited power and beauty, as grand for exploring and explaining the universe as mathematics. It must be true as English reflects and expresses nothing less than the human heart and brain.

Proven each week at  Friday Fictioneers: 100-word stories.  Keep writing, my friends!

photo prompt:© Jennifer Pendergrast