It’s blog hop time! My piece is short, a flash-fiction story clocking in at exactly 500 words. I’m pretty nervous to share it, and super excited to read the rest of the stories in the hop. Anyway, without further ado, I present Body Double.
Disclaimer: This story features mild references to violence.
I gazed out the glass wall of my apartment, trying to admire the skyscraper-studded view while ignoring the sounds of the 127th Academy Awards streaming behind me.
I didn’t know why I’d even turned it on—but as the level of wine in my bottle fell, so did my resolution not to watch it.
When they prepped to announce the winner for Best Actress, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I polished off the bottle, walked over, and plopped myself on the couch in front of the screen.
The video cut to an image of my twin in red dress, beaming stupidly with equal parts shock and delight.
Getting awarded for my work.
Her speech, complete with crocodile tears, didn’t include a single mention of me.
Come morning, I woke to the sound of someone banging on my front door. Bleary-eyed and hungover, I got up from the couch and walked over, not bothering to check my appearance—or the peephole—first.
When I flung open the door, Lucia stood before me, looking airbrushed as usual. Though we’d shared a face since birth, somehow Lucia always looked better. And she never let me forget it.
Lucia appraised me with her eyes and smirked. “Hello, Kassia. May I?” she asked.
I tried closing the door, but she pushed against it. I wanted to slam it on her hand and break a few of those manicured fingers. Instead, I relented, and she strode inside. She seated herself at the head of my dining table and chewed on the end of her scarf, a habit she’d picked up in our childhood specifically to irritate me.
“You didn’t come support me last night,” she said, after I finally took a seat.
“I can’t imagine why not.”
“Oh, don’t be bitter—it’s not a good look on you. And there’s really no reason to be upset. ”
“Seriously? That award is mine.”
“Please,” she said, waving her hand. “So I got sick, and you covered me for a couple shots—“
“Try a couple weeks.”
“—I did all the real work.”
“You’re joking. You weren’t even in the scenes people are raving about, or the clips they played last night. That was all me!”
Lucia rolled her eyes. “Don’t give yourself so much credit. You’re good, Kassia. But I’m better.”
“Even if that were true—which it’s not—that doesn’t mean you can steal my work! I’m not asking you to give everything up, just to give me some credit. Do I not deserve that?”
She shrugged. “Look. The film industry doesn’t need two of us, and you just don’t have that je ne sais quoi that celebrity requires. I do. I won’t apologize for that.”
I don’t remember strangling her—if I used my bare hands, or that stupid scarf of hers.
I do remember stringing her up and staging it as my own suicide, complete with note.
And I’ll always remember the thrill of polishing my Oscar for the first time.
Check out the other stories!
Kris Bowser: Tantrums
Virginia McClain: Rakko’s Storm
Grace Robinette: Georg Grembl
Elizabeth McCleary: The Door
Dale Cozort: Two Letters In A Fireproof Box
Katharina Gerlach: Canned Food
Rabia Gale: Spark
K. A. Petentler: The Twisted Tale of Isabel
Shana Blueming: Paper & Glue
Amy Keeley: To Be Prepared For Chocolate
Cherie “Jade” Arbuckle: After I Died
Karen Lynn: The Family Book
Angela Wooldridge: An Alternative to Frog
Thea van Diepen: Are You Sure It’s That Way?
Paula de Carvalho: Body Double