Me and my red scarf

I lay on the floor screaming at the top of my lungs as the room around me was spinning. The sound of squeaky wheels along the ground shrieking at me. The smell of perfume smacking me in the face as a pointy nosed women glided past me, looking at me with a lowered brow as she did so. The feeling of new clothes as soft as a feather hanging down just the hems touching my arm. All of this was sending me into overdrive. My mother sat crossed legged alongside me patiently in silence as she always does. After a few minutes my screams had all fallen out. My mouth open but no sound coming out, slowly I began to blink my eyes until I reached the number 20. Abruptly I sat up looking at my mother my throat red raw and my head pounding. She pushed her muddy brown hair off her face and looked back at me. In unison we stood up, I clasped my little fingers around the edge of the shopping cart feeling the cold metal enter into my skin as my mother began to push the cart around the shop.

Arriving at the counter with a cart full of clothes I sprinted away; cheetah style. The wind blowing through my thin, straw-like hair generated by the speed of my run, I headed for the accessories. Shining glowing metals encased in a clear perplex glass, I stared at different jewellery dangling. The light reflecting off the jewellery created micro multicoloured patterns. As I continued to stare at the display hypnotised a light-weighted, bright red fabric fell on my head covering my sight so that all I could see was red and then black as it fully covered my eyes. My mother’s voice was high pitched in the distance, not quite a scream maybe a high C on a piano. Eventually her voice got closer and closer until I could feel her breath on top of me and smell the heat radiating off it. She delicately lifted the fabric making sure as to not touch my head with her hands. She knelt down and said “silly sausage”. “Silly sausage” I regurgitated back. Mother began to move the fabric away and place it onto the nearest rack. I snatched it back and clasped it tightly feeling the stitches through my fingers. Both holding onto the fabric mother guided me back to the counter. Mother looked at the woman behind the counter and said “can you add this scarf to my bill?”. My scarf, my beautiful, bright red scarf.

Originally written by AutiWomanDifferentBox

A piece of creative writing. Feel free to comment.

Thanks for reading. Hope you liked it. Peace out!

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