I’ve been in front of the computer all morning trying my best to ignore the siren song of the internet. Needless to say, it’s been a losing battle. I’ve trolled the usual social media and news sites (all of which are overly concerned with Ted Cruz running for president) numerous times and have gone to the usual websites I go to when I’m procrastinating. One of my favorite I-know-I’m-wasting-time-on-the-internet-but-it-doesn’t-feel-like-I’m-wasting-it sites is Chuck Wendig’s joint.
I cruised the blog archives from last week (I missed most of last week because I was down the work rabbit hole) and saw this week’s Flash Fiction Challenge and decided to participate because 100 words doesn’t seem like much of a time suck, and I’m still writing. But, you know, not what I’m supposed to be writing.
Anyway, my story’s bellow, and I hope you enjoy.
Deanna canned according to size. Eye lashes, then eyebrows, then pubic hair (she mixed armpit, vaginal, leg, and arm hair together), then teeth, then fingernails, then toenails (you had to keep those two separate), and now she was working on skin. With her paring knife she started at the toes of her right foot (she was a lefty) and worked her way up to the ankle. The one key component she failed to factor in was blood loss. By the time she started work on her calf, she was woozy and her hands were slippery and cold.