April 2020 Winner

Second Chances

Written by Johanna Skinner

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Jemima started to have doubts about her plan. If she was caught out, there would be no second chances. Todd would make sure of that. Her throat tightened and she had to take a couple of deep breaths and close her eyes for a minute. It was harmless, no one would be hurt, it would all be okay.  She leant forward and peered into the broken mirror.  She barely recognized herself, her face thick with white paint, her lips  blood red, her eyes disguised inside the glitter of sparkling make up. 

She slipped into the tutu and spangled white jacket, ensured her arms were covered. She pulled on a wig, added gossamer wings that floated behind her like magic and grabbed her tasseled wand.  Heart fluttering, she headed to the party in the park.

She stopped just short of the table strung with balloons and streamers then inhaled sharply.  The blonde setting out fairy bread, cupcakes and neat slices of watermelon must be her. Todd’s wife. Jemima had hoped that she would be ugly, fall short in some obvious way, but she was too bloody good to be true in her expensive sundress, nails done, skin flawless.

Jemima turned to leave. Her wings sagged, her wand drooped. Suddenly, she heard laughter and a dozen little girls emerged in a jumble of party dresses.  Grubby fingers reached for food.  The juice toppled, a balloon burst like a gunshot and Jemima paused. She had to look. Just for a moment, to reassure herself.

There she was.  Strawberry blonde, scrawny with a cinnamon dusting of freckles across her cheeks. She clutched a wedge of watermelon and it dripped onto her dress.  She kicked off her shoes, ran then stopped, right in front of Jemima. They stared at each other. Time veered, paused and the park blurred for a moment. Jemima had the overwhelming thought, How long would I get for abduction. Then the world righted itself and Jemima breathed out, stilled the noise in her head.

The little person who stood in front of her did not seem surprised.  She dropped the watermelon into the dirt and crossed her arms.  Jemima waved her wand and wished for all the things that would never be hers then crouched down until they were eye to eye, nose to nose and sized each other up. Jemima smiled. This one would give Mrs Too Good To be True a run for her bloody money. 

Then the moment passed and Jemima was alone again.

She walked home and stared at herself in the broken mirror. Her face, like her heart, shattered into fragments. She was clean now, she had done her time but it was too late.  Some mistakes were just too big. She would never kiss her daughter to sleep at night, read her stories, be her mum.  She closed her eyes and remembered her little girl’s watermelon scented breath, the soft curls haloed around the freckled face.

I’m sorry, she whispered. I’m so sorry.