A new series of prompts from the son of Rob who brought us Writer’s Island.
Matinee Muse provides writing prompts inspired by film.
Last week the prompt was Life in the Shadows.
I am a little late with it (like an entire week) but I quite like the story so I thought I’d throw it into Friday’s pot. It’s a silly little ditty…..
Millicent Marsh wasn’t really here. In this world. She knew it. It didn’t take a lot of thinking to figure it out. Just a bit of looking around. Anyone could see it.
She lived in the shadows of her sister’s greatness. Harriet Jane. Harriet Jane. So pretty. Such a good student. So popular. Such a thoughtful girl. If Millicent walked through the room completely naked with a parrot on her shoulder, her mother wouldn’t notice if Harriet Jane was in the room.
‘Millicent Marsh – tie your shoes. Millicent Marsh – lay the table. Millicent Marsh – go and find your sister’s English book.’ Her mother never referred to her solely by her first name, shrieking out Millicent Marsh all day long as if she was being punished for something she hadn’t even done yet.
‘I am Mama’s favourite,’ Harriet Jane smirked. ‘I am golden. You are tin. If you ran away from home no one would notice.’
Millicent actually packed a bag – full of her books and her lucky poodle socks. She got to the front door, muttering under her breath: ‘I’ll show you. I’ll show you all.’ But she heard Harriet Jane talking on the phone. It was her boyfriend, Maxwell P. ‘You can stay tonight,’ Harriet Jane said. ‘In my room.You can sneak out in the morning. Mother is visiting a friend. She’ll be home late. What? Oh, don’t worry about Millicent Marsh. Nobody knows if she’s here or not. Nobody cares.’
‘I’ll get you,’ muttered Millicent. ‘You prissy little goody two shoes. I’ll sort you out for good.’
While Harriet Jane and Maxwell P were canoodling in the kitchen, knocking her mother’s entire bowl of organic lemons onto the floor, Millicent crept into her sister’s bedroom and turned on her web cam. She logged into Harriet Jane’s favourite chat room with the web cam aimed directly onto the bed and pressed record. ‘These sex tapes will be hotter than Paris Hilton’s,’ Millicent whispered.
She retreated into her room and tucked herself into bed with her laptop on her knee. It didn’t take long for the action to begin. Thrust. Pow. Bam. Moan. Writhe. Grasp. Spit. Wham. Paris Hilton had nothing on Harriet Jane.
Messages began to appear on Harriet Jane’s computer. Millicent could hear the ping, ping, ping through her bedroom wall. She knew Harriet Jane had seen them when she heard her scream.
‘Oh My God, I left the webcam on,’ she cried. ‘OMFG. OMFG.’ She began to wail.
She was still wailing an hour later when her mother returned home, puzzled to see what all the fuss was about. Harriet Jane, in her hysteria, confessed all to her mother who proceeded to call her a dirty little girl and said she would send her to boarding school.
Millicent felt like she had found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
All night she waited. All night. And long into the next day. But her mother didn’t call out Millicent Marsh even once. She was too busy, on the phone, dealing with the fall out. Millicent grinned and helped herself to all the chocolate biscuits in the pantry. Sometimes it paid to live in the shadows.
