“You’ve been locked in this bathroom far too long,” I whispered into the grimy mirror.
I sighed and straightened my black velvet dress. The door creaked open and I could feel their penetrating gazes.
Upon entering my husband’s funeral, I prayed that I could feign the tears one last time.
Isabella Blakeman is a sophomore at Yale University majoring in Latin American Studies.
Oh, that is a tough one! But I wondered why you have the word “grimy”. Maybe I am missing some other clue.
I don’t read this as a “puzzle” story. I think it’s simply the presentation of a woman who is not sad her husband died, but needs everyone else to think she is. That could imply murder, insurance fraud, social pressures to keep the marriage together, or some other interpretation. But ultimately, the reason she isn’t sad is not the story: the story is about her acting. The rest, to me, is an imagination game.
Some stories are stronger as “imagination games”; some story are stronger as “puzzles”. Up to you what you prefer!
Maybe because the mirror IS grimy
Good structure. Well done.
Barry O’Farrell
I like the fact that we are left to ponder what is not there, but only if we want to.