Glamour Shot
The crisp evening air came through the open doors, and swept across the satin blue night gown and feather trimmed, silk blue robe of Moira as she sauntered elegantly in her smooth heeled slippers. Her beautifully styled, light auburn hair cascading down her back, softly flowed in the breeze. “I better get these doors shut, and turn in. There’s a storm coming.” Moira’s three small children played on the floor near the doors. The sweet smell of the hydrangeas and lilacs captivated them into a secure sense of safety. It’s in these blissful moments that the false sense of safety masks the impending chaos that is sure to erupt. “Let’s go into the play room, kids,” Moira ushered the children toward the doorway of the grand room of the house. There was a distinctly undeniable and sobering perception deep in her inner most thoughts. Was it the disturbance in the wretched heat of the summer evening that awakened her heightened awareness of the brilliant green leaves being turned over and pale. Maybe the gloriously pure scent of rain on the horizon. Perhaps it was the impending storm, perhaps it was it something else, something far more sinister.
The older children were in the process of gathering their toys and scurring into their beloved large and brightly colored playroom, Moira noticed her youngest babe was toddling. “Come along, now Genie. Don’t stray near the windows. It’s not safe there.” Quickening her pace over to the gentle Genevieve, Moira’s spirit became exceedingly unsettled. In the process of bending down to pick up her dear one, Moira suddenly felt dizzy and weak. The nervous twenty-three year old mother, scooped up her precious daughter and staggered over to the sofa. She collapsed onto the plush white chaise lounge, and subsequently, Genevieve slinked back onto the floor. Though both lethargic and whimpering, she managed to blurt out a scrutinizing thought, “Mama, what’s wrong?”
Moira’s eyes flickered and became lack luster compared to the usual piercing blue of the vibrant, young mother. “Mommy was wrong this time, dear one. The storm is already here.”
Lightning lit up the evening sky, accompanied by the clashing of thunder closing in on the large home. The lifeless frames of Moira and her three children remained in the grand room with the doors still propped open, wind dusting over them. Genevieve laid, coiled up at the long draped legs of her mother. Her long hair swirled around her, effortlessly. Her older siblings, Demi and Jude, who had collapsed in the entry way, were both now, bleakly desolate. Demi still had her blanket cloaked over one arm, pooling on the floor with her long, red spirals of hair. Jude’s dark hair had just grown a few tightly tufted curls, that now blew gently in the wind. His prize truck that could usually be found grasped tightly in his had, now rested in his fingertips.
“Moira, darling,” the sweet, soprano voice of Moira’s best friend and U.S.O. partner, carried throughout the foyer. “Where is our beautiful lead alto, and those adorable little children that I love so much?” Adelaide and Josephine always came to practice their sets around this time of the night. Their slender legs strolled them from doorway and into the hallway, as the marble floors let out a dazzling ring from their fine point heels. Dress to impress, was their motto, and impress the trio did. Their knee length pencil skirts, with satin button up blouses, stole the show every time. Performing was what they lived for.
Upon entering the grand room, the lightening lit up the devastation that awaited them, “ Nooooo!!!!” The women kicked their shoes off, and ran to their friend. “Moira, what is this? Why are your hands so cold? Josephine, they’re all freezing! Help me close the doors.” Adelaide’s abundance of black shoulder length bob, bounced in curls of chaos, as she ran to the elegantly large doors. The two women closed and locked each of the window clad doors, one by one. Upon the final click, from the last lock, on the double doors in the center; the women dispersed. Adelaide ran back to Moira and Genevieve, and gathered the fragile toddler in her arms. Josephine took to Jude and Demi. Their lips were a grey blue, and there were no pulses to be found from any of them. “Adelaide, their all dead.” Josephine could barely sputter the words. “We need to phone the police.”
