101 Words:

I was the life of the party, back when life had parties. I danced on tables, tossed back my teased head—too-loud laughter mixing with vodka cocktails spilled on the floor. My signature move was The Flaming Sambuca. I became a fire-breathing dragon in a micro-skirt and wedged heels. A mistress of flirting without speaking. One curl of my finger lured them onto the dance floor. First hands, then mouths, connected with music and the freedom of being twenty-two. Now I’m forty-six, in sensible flats. Her tiny skirts are buried deep in my closet. I’d love to dance with her again.

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Christy Hartman
Christy Hartman pens short fiction from her home between the ocean and mountains of Vancouver Island Canada. She writes about the chasm between love and loss and picking out the morsels of magic in life’s quiet moments. Christy has been published in Elegant Literature, Bright Flash Literary Review, Fairfield Scribes, and others. When not writing, Christy devotes her time to whichever old or injured rescue dog has wormed their way into heart, currently an anxious Red Heeler named Cyrus. Her other hobby is cooking vegan meals and trying to convince her husband they taste just like chicken.
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