“Butter Cream”

She lived a life of butter cream, of frothy parties and fizzy cocktails, confectionery clothes and candy shoes. Her world was bright with dragée stars, sugar moons and peppermint frost. She shone in jewels and jazz and paparazzi snaps, nibbled on marzipan days and dark chocolate nights. She was the bomb, fresh and new like a birthday cake on a crystal plate.

“Pristine perfect,” the card proclaimed in ivory vellum edged with gold.

“Flavour of the month,” said the inside voice.

Then the whispers came like summer rain and melted all her butter cream.

* * *

Many writing exercises suggest creating something from a random phrase or song title or something, and a few days ago I noticed a flower that reminded me of butter cream. I liked the phrase so much that I thought, write a piece around it. It took me three days to get up the nerve tackle the exercise and this is what emerged.

I’m pretty sure I’ve been somebody famous/infamous in a previous life; I keep writing about fallen women.