One Two Three

One Two Three

She kicks her leg up, showing the world her shapely thigh.  Her skirt’s a rainbow of pastels that frame the swell of her plump buttocks and the sheaf of white panty that bisects her inner leg and whispers of the dark cleft underneath.

One Two Three

One Two Three

She turns in a whirl, her soft doll curls spinning like the dishes balanced precariously on smooth ivory poles.  Her lips are red; the perfect cupids bow, and dark eyelashes flutter above ice blue eyes, so incredibly blue they’re ghost-like.

One Two Three

One Two Three

The curtains close.  They open again.  She’s seen undressed; her porcelain skin grasped at every angle by the calloused hands of men.  The cupid’s bow is now split apart, a thick shaft poised between it, ready to shoot its quarry.  In the end, they all promise her a pearl necklace.

One Two Three

One Two Three

The veil of night descents to day, and in khaki pants she waits on the curb.  The cupid’s bow is gone, the golden curls replaced by a hat and tail.  The glamour is absent, the lights distinguished.  The spinning dishes all put away.

One Two Three

One Two Three

“Mommy!”  He says, grasping her around the neck.  He’s the only necklace she needs, and she wears him with more pride than any diamond.  They play, they eat.  She sets him to sleep.  Then on again the angelic mask of a performer.  On again the swollen red lips, the lazuli eyes, the golden wig touched by Midas.

One Two Three

One Two Three

She was a heaven in hotpants.  Black crosses hid the brown bump atop each breast,   She kicks up her boots.  She bends.  Her legs open wide, mimicking a smile with no mirth.  She’s loved by all.  The fake little doll on stage that makes the men hard for love.

One Two Three

One Two Three

This time when the curtains open for an aftershow there is only one.  He’s mean looking, with a sharp jaw and low brow.  He growls, beckons her to come.  She’s dressed, but she somehow feels completely naked, like he can see her beating heart shuddering against her rib cage.  He grips harder than the others, and before she knows it she can feel her skin yawning open.

One Two Three

One Two Three

She doesn’t remember much, only the plume of fear that has seemingly evaporated into something wet.  Her neck has been torn.  He’s left her more than a necklace, he’s given her a second smile just below her chin.  She tries to breath but can only feel the drool of blood oozing from her neck, the tears falling down her eyes.  There are screams!  People all around her.

One Two Three

One Two Three

Don’t remember me like this: she hears her head say.  She rips at her clothes, trying to remove them.  She unbuttons her pants, pulling them off her thighs.  They’re hot!  Like fire.  She needs them off.  She hears; Stop!  A pair of hands trying to stop her.  She struggles.  She doesn’t want to die a doll in hot pants.  She thinks of her son, years from now… this isn’t who she is!

One Two Three

One Two Three

They’re gone.  The horrible things.  It’s a happy ending.  She smiles as the light of her life dims.  Highways of blood run over her naked chest, into her navel.  They’re off, bloody on the floor.  Her makeup is running, her hair tangled but she didn’t die in hot pants, she didn’t die dressed a doll.  She’s buried in Khaki pants, her son a necklace around her throat for the last time.

One… two… three…..

One… two…

“Mommy!”

– Vanessa Hawkins

Author’s Note: I was prompted to write “The Happy Ending” while abroad, in response to the claim that I only write sad endings.