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Cassandra
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TITLE (EDIT)
Cassandra
DESCRIPTION
The story of Cassandra and the domination of her vanity.
[1,205 words]
TITLE KEYWORD
Suspense
AUTHOR
Wandering Minstrel
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Listless pourings of random illusion and disillusion.
[February 2003]
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (1)
Soulful Drippings (Poetry) A few poems for those who disappear in the masses and moolight as ghosts. [216 words] [Mind]
Cassandra
Wandering Minstrel

It was early afternoon the sun beaming down brilliantly on the clear blue water its rays reaching deep into the depths illuminating even the flat rocks at the bottom of the streambed where the mosses curl delicately and sway with the current. The birds twittered impromptu operas while hopping along leafy branches.
Along way off the forest rumbled. Slowly the noise grew louder, until it became a deafening roar. As all the birds flew from the clearing a little red sports car crunched over the last of the trees and skidded to a halt. The car was a little triumph two-seater with an engine meant for the racetrack, and intentions of avoiding the law.
The driver's door swung open and out stepped Cassandra. She was the envy of every woman who knew her and the fantasy of every man. Her red stilettos sank into the ground as she brushed off her dress gave her hair a flip and surveyed the surroundings.
A river ran through the clearing, and trees with the greenest of green foliage surrounded the opening on all sides, with the exception of where the car had crashed through. The forest was not entirely unlike one of the paintings she had seen in one of the many galleries she'd opened. Not like she particularly liked such things, but the people at the events were fun to watch, and it is good PR.
Taking one final look at the place she made sure that there was no way the media could make this place sound grimy or civilian. The esthetics were too close to perfect for that. The only possible way to describe it would be tragically beautiful, so she made her way back to her car her heels getting stuck in the mud..
Plodding her way to the trunk of her car the license plate caught her eye. It was a reminder of how much she hated those government types. The plate read: MOVYSTR, instead of the MOVIE*, with the little star actually printed on the plate, but they wouldn't make an exception not even for her and she was the greatest star of them all.
Digging through the mass of half empty makeup containers, clothing, shopping bags, and shoes, she found a bottle of makeup remover, a pair of flat sandals bought in Rome, and the dress. The dress was the most important part of her plan. She had bought it for this occasion, before she ever thought the occasion would arise. While in Milan she walked into a store and found it all alone on a hanger in the back of the shop, and without even thinking twice about it she took it up to the register. In fact, she didn't know if it fit at all.
She took the things off the trunk of her car and ventured into the woods a ways to change. She took off all her makeup and changed her shoes, but as she was lifting up the dress she notice a little red stain at the bottom of the dress by the hem. Most likely it was nail polish, but whatever it was it, didn't belong there. She pulled one out a rag from her purse and scrubbed frantically at the stain. Yet, it was useless the stain was there forever, and she had wore a hole through the rag. Reluctantly, she pulled the dress over her head, and returned to the car.
She admired her reflection on the side of the car, and went once more to the trunk. This time she pulled from the trunk a foldable full-length mirror fashioned specially for her car. She propped up the mirror against a nearby tree and removed the last bit of makeup she had missed. She gave herself the once over and decided that with the exception of the stain on her dress she looked like a goddess
While walking towards the riverbank she slowed remembering what people looked like after sitting in the water for days, bloated up and peeling. To be found like that would not suit her. To bloat up and peel, what a waste of all the time she spent looking for this place. She could bloat up in a city sewer if she was going to bloat up.
There was only one thing to do. She'd have to let the world in on her plans. She walked back to the car, got her phone and dialed Andrew her agent.
Knowing he was she waited impatiently for the machine to pick up. The voice on the phone like a mechanized Andrew began, "Hello Cassandra, you know better than to call this number. You know I'm never home, but I know you're just going to leave a message, so go right ahead."
The machine beeped and Cassandra spoke back to it attempting to sound carefree and nostalgic at the same time, "Andrew I regret to say this is the last time you will hear my voice. My time has come. I have no place on this earth anymore. I will go now before age takes my body and ravages my soul. I have always been fond of you, goodbye."
She hung up and dropped the phone back into the car through the window.

Returning to the river she stood at the bank and let the tiny waves wash over her toes. Slowly stepping deeper into the water she thought about what she was doing. She was the cliché standing there, she would die at the height of a career tragically cut short. After all, if she were to remain much longer shed' just get pushed out of the spotlight. Or, just drift out till she became a B rate celebrity. She wouldn't lt this happen to her. Death was better by far.
Now in the middle of the river chest deep in water Cassandra ducked her head underwater letting her body sink to the bottom. Blowing tiny bubbles to keep herself from floating upwards. Quite peaceful it was at the bottom the water running over her soft skin, but something was nagging, something was wrong. She scanned herself in her mind, hr makeup was off revealing her natural blush, her hair was brushed and waving in the current, and the dress flapped with the gentle pull of the stream.
There must be something, why wouldn't the feeling go away. It couldn't be fear. She was ore afraid of the game show circuit than death.
Ten it struck her, it was the stain, the tiny little red smudge. Small it was, but oh how it bothered her so. The long milky white dress was now tainted, no longer perfect.
How perfect it was. How picturesque, she was to be like a Lady of Shallotte, but how can something so small ruin it all.
Huffing and cursing she pulled herself to the surface. She scrambled to the shore. Grabbing the dress by the hem she ripped the stain from the dress. Then ripped the dress from her body. Stomping back to the car wearing only shards or the dress and the sandals she swung the door open, got in, slammed it shut, put her foot on the gas, and drove away.

 

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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2003 Wandering Minstrel
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
February 2003
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
2320
 

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