Isabel felt disappointed in what she saw: one dress. She thought there would be more participation. In her small pueblo of Calzada de los Molinos, residents displayed windmills in their windows on the fourth Sunday of May. She thought the dresses would bring a sense of community.
She pushed a stray piece of dark hair from her heavily made-up face. “I’ll do it myself. ”
Isabel hurried to her apartment, gathering dresses from her closet. She balanced on the fire escape wearing four-inch stiletto’s and fishnet stockings. She began to hang naughty dresses in the plaza on Red Light Street.
Inspiration and time forced me to take part in Friday Fictioneers again. I like being limited to 100 words because it forces me to decide what is redundant and what is important. I’d love to hear your reaction.