Fantasy Flashes

A Life for a Rose

'Ladies and gentlemen, let's meet our contestants!'

The spotlight was warm and insufferable. I hated being the centre of attention, but here I didn't have a choice. Glass eyed spectres watched as I wobbled on stage, the light stalking close behind me. There were a few of us, stood together, shaking. They say confidence is key in these games, but I had none of that. The host stood there, criticising our appearances.

'Blue is simply not your colour dear' 'I suppose fashion isn't in your vocabulary either'

He scrutinised our looks even though he wasn't drop dead gorgeous himself. His face was a bright artificial white, and his hair was coated in a thick orange. To top it off, his eyelashes curved outwards, almost as if he was aiming to poke someone's eyes out. He looked a mess.

But we weren't here to impress him. It was the young man beside him. I've never really cared for appearances more than I did on this very stage. He was an average looking bloke, nothing special about him apart from the desired roses he held in his pudgy hands, along with our fates. I suddenly felt inferior to my competition, wearing nothing grand apart from my mother's prized pink frock. Most of us were frightened, but others weren't. The ones that had the power to be beautiful.

I watched as his eyes scanned us. He started to point at the ones he didn't care for, claiming they weren't his type. One by one we were thrown away. Girls left screaming, begging for a second chance. No rose means no life. A dozen soon turned into five.

The man held only three roses, three lives. Two of us were to die. The first rose was given to a girl in a disco ball dress and the girl next to me was cast aside. The second rose passed to a girl with plastic lips. And then there were two. I knew I didn't stand a chance, I was a dead girl walking. My life relied on that final flower. Then the dreaded answer came.

'And our final contestant is...'