Like Mother, Like Daughter

Hello, all! It’s been awhile since I’ve made a blog post due to graduate school. It’s been even longer since I wrote a short story for this blog, so  figured today would be the perfect time to do so; two birds one stone, right? Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

The incessant beeping of her rose gold alarm clock had never been so grating. Maybe it was the two French braids that practically pulled at her scalp. Maybe it was the fact that she had slept for a total of forty- seven minutes, yes, she counted. Whatever the reason, the sounds of the alarm clock rang in her ears, turning her mood from groggy to sour. If that clock hadn’t cost so much money, she would have simply thrown the loud nuisance across the room.

“Money…” she mumble to herself. If a smile could ever truly split a face, the wide one that Natalie McKenna wore would have been it. Gliding smoothly out of bed, she sauntered over to her pink and black satin robe, sliding it over her dainty tank top. The wooden floors were chilled in the early December morning. Natalie’s fluffy sippers kept her from having to deal with the slight inconvenience as she strode to the built in bathroom in her room. The water that seeped from her face rag was warm, warm enough to ebb the cool feeling from her hands. She brushed long blonde strands of hair out of her face. She couldn’t help but let out a mirthless laugh at the rehearsed sobs of her mother that could be heard from the other side. Curse those thin walls.

Once at her bright vanity, she pulled out the various make- up bags. She reached for her foundation but pulled her hand back. She knew her own feigned tears would leave streaks. She worried at her bottom lip. But she knew if she wanted that inheritance, she’d have to convince the family that her and her mother were truly grieve- stricken by Papa McKenna’s untimely demise. She stuck with a light cat eye and a nude lipstick. She turned to look over her shoulder when she heard a knock. Her mother leaned against the doorframe. The black cocktail dress her father had gotten her still seemed to fit her well.

“You’re not dressed yet?” her mother asked simply. Natalie looked at her face to see if their were any tear streaks from earlier. She quirked an eyebrow at the lack of streaks. She would have to ask how she was able to cry without messing up her make-up.

“Papa’s not here to get mad about it anymore,” Natalie retorted. She didn’t miss the smallest hint of the smile. She pulled her hair into a bun as her mother’s heels clicked against the wooden floors. Her mother leaned down so that their cheeks were touching. Their faces looked so similar, save for the freckles that Natalie got from her father and the fine lines near her mother’s eyes.

“Come on, sweetie,” her mother started, straightening up. “The funeral should only last for a few hours.” Natalie rolled her eyes, but stood up from the plush stool that matched her vanity.

“Funerals are the worst.”

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I just wanted to write a quick little story alluding to a fem- fatale. Hope you liked it!

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