Writober 2020 #4: Lipstick

Writober Prompt 4: Lipstick

“People recognise her by her lipstick. More specifically, by the messages she leaves around town with it.”

Hello and welcome to the Writober series! These posts will feature flash fiction stories that I wrote for #Writober 2020 — one prompt each day for the whole month of October. Prompts provided by‘s pumpINK list.

Day 4: Lipstick ?

People recognise her by her lipstick. More specifically, by the messages she leaves around town with it.

She’s the only one bold enough to paint her lips bright red, collecting looks here and there as she goes. She never fit in in that small town, she always wanted to stand out. The others thought she was weird already, so why not set fire to their imagination? Why not prove them right, give them something to talk about — even something to fear?

She’s not the type for a steady boyfriend, again, much to the women’s scorn, while their husbands and all the bachelors stay silent, lying in wait — wondering when it’ll be their turn.

Small town hypocrisy, so cliché.

She usually selects a new victim every month or so. She doesn’t like it when they come onto her, openly flirty and interested. She likes to select them; and there is only one way that works for her.

She writes a secret message on the bathroom mirror. Whoever decodes it can have the honour of being with her.

Because not everybody will do; she’s still picky.

Only after they have shown themselves worthy by decoding the message and recognising her lipstick, are they allowed to flirt with her, play with her, have fun with her.

They’re positively adorable, she thinks. So cute, believing they’re in control.

She enjoys the carnal pleasures, sure. But nothing comes close to the sheer thrill that electrifies her body when she sees their expressions contort and deform into horror as they realise they are about to stop breathing.

Her kiss is the last thing they experience; her acidic lipstick the last thing they taste.

They should’ve known better. They always came to her, divulging proudly that they had decoded her message in the bathroom; that they knew what she wanted. Oh, they had no idea.

In truth, nobody knows the real meaning of the words she writes in bright red on the mirror, or they would steer clear.

She re-applies her lipstick again, slowly, meticulously, mindfully. In her own bedroom, she has the same phrase written in the corner of her beauty mirror:


Author’s Notes: This story was brought to you by Twin Peaks gang. (Watch Twin Peaks. It’s so good.)

If you enjoy my work and want to support me, please consider buying me a ko-fi or checking out my Patreon. Feel free to follow me on twitter and instagram where I’m also doing more writing challenges for October. Stay spooky ? and keep writing! ?

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