Susan extended a hand towards the powder, carefully dabbing the blush around her high cheekbones.
“Still beautiful”, she said aloud, admiring herself.
Tonight was important. They had to see her winning.
As she applied her lipstick, she caught sight of a tiara hanging from her mirror. She smiled, drawing confidence from a memory of victory.
Finally dressed for the occasion, she arose, sweeping her gown behind her.
She took her beloved Albert’s hand and departed.
Arriving, she haughtily gazed upon the crowd, as if a queen accompanied by her prince.
She was there to be seen, and, indeed, she was seen. The other attendees exchanged sad, knowing, looks.
“The poor thing has truly lost it”, murmured a burly orderly to Albert, Susan’s nurse, as he slopped mashed potatoes onto her paper plate.
Her residents’ gown gently rustled as he pushed his plastic food trolley past them.
James Hills Writes 