Panorama
Like every other black and white moment with a woman in the center, I’m distraught. My breasts threaten to make their debut as my night gown’s strap slips a little too low, I don’t bother with the fickle matter of fixing myself. My eyes have that all too familiar glint of a dame with nothing to lose and everything to offer. Are you willing to pay the stakes?
Coal-like mascara has long since run down my face with my latest crying episode, and yet I know I’m still as beautiful as any other tramp around. I can’t look anything other than ravishing with how my long lashes flutter, begging to take off. I’m supposed to be a nervous wreck by the time the cops arrive, so I might as well play the part. My hands refuse to stop shaking as I struggle to get a single spark from my lighter. The damn thing is running low, just as my patience is apparently.
“Wider,” I can hear off in the distance.
My hunched-over appearance does little to depict just how enticing I am it seems. I spread my legs ever so slightly, only until right above my stockings is revealed. I can’t give away all of my secrets now can I?
The gentle flicker of light warms my face as I bring it close to light the cigarette that had been sitting in my mouth for longer than necessary. I never did like smoking. I emphasize the rise and fall of my chest in a way that I know has your attention. With your focus being directly on me, it’s impossible to see anything else. That’s exactly what they want.
I’ll have to bare my chest to get your attention. I’ll have to arch my back to keep it. And just when you think it’s okay to draw your attention elsewhere, I’ll give you that one look that no man can deny.
My tongue glides over my pink lips as I do the silly act of burning out my cigarette on my arm. Now it’s my turn to stand and walk no more than three steps. I’ll sing the song, the one that every widowed damsel in distress sings. I’ll look directly into the camera and beg you to answer the question, “What have I done?”. Can you tell me?
And when this song and dance is over, I must throw myself on the couch once more and curl into a fragile ball. I may be a broad with a bit of wit, but I need you to believe that I am defenseless and senseless and tiny with a desperate need for comfort from the nearest man. Women will watch me and curse my name in a heap of envy for not being me. Men will pleasure themselves to my performance while picturing me instead of their wives.
I can hear the sirens wailing in the distance. Finally, a conclusion to this meaningless scene. The camera slowly pans off of my carnal form to the real scene around me. Do you see it? While you were so desperately focused on everything that was me. Did you notice the man I had killed just moments before? Of course you didn’t, you were too busy trying to get underneath my gown.
“And cut! That’s a wrap!”
An unmemorable dead man moves from his position on the floor. The lights begin to dim as chatter peruses about my black and white moment. And I, in all my amorous glory, glower at the burn mark that has made its way to my skin.
Did I do well?