Creative Writing, Flash Fiction

Who She Was

She became the type of woman you might see struggling down the Oxford Street, high street, with a dozen paper bags in each hand, running for a taxi. Each paper bag would have a famous name on it and it would have some wonderful luxury inside. She wouldn’t say ‘hi’ even if she recognised you. It wasn’t very classy to have a street side conversation, apparently. She would have you book a lunch date with her or something similar.

I wouldn’t permit you to despise her because she was like this, she just didn’t know any better. She was no longer the young girl you once knew but she was still a girl. And you can’t really blame a girl for who she is until you get to know her. So you would have to get to know her all over again, and then decide if you blamed her.

I won’t tell you what I think of her, but I would like to hear what you think of her once you had gotten to know her again.


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