PHOTO PROMPT © Lily
Spoiled
Although I’m sitting poolside at my villa, sipping Margarita, my soul feels like chipped, latex-coated lead: cheap, artificial, and toxic. The adage goes, how did I get to this place; but I know, know how, and who is to blame. When you’ve had enough trauma cast upon you as an innocent, you get twisted enough to conjure it on your own as an adult.
“Hector, when you’ve finished with my toes, please fetch me another drink.”
Hector’s god-like face smiles at me adoringly, imperceptibly nodding.
I watch his bronzed David form rise and pad to the tiki.
I sigh, bored.
[100 words]
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields is the host of Friday Fictioneers.
Tao-Talk 
As a holiday, it seems idilic.
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Someone, when every day is a holiday, it’s just another day… Thanks for reading and your comment.
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I think Hector has just about had it putting up with this stuff.
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James, I don’t think you know Hector very well. Thanks for reading :)
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Oh, this is rich, Li!
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:) Thanks, Nancy!
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You’re welcome!
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Not exactly self aware. (K)
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K, I see her as just the opposite, only too aware of what she is, just not giving a damn.
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This is forensic and brutally true. “The rich also cry, as the Mexican tele-novela has it
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Neil, I *love* your comment, thank you for making my day.
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