Young Fawns

I went to Literary Death Match tonight and came home with this is my head. No real reason really as there was nobody to fit either of the descriptions below.. I guess I just wanted to write something.

 

 

They stumble in like young fawns, their ability to walk freshly minted. Teetering with all the grace of toddlers paying dress up, their high-gloss lips shine like eyes in high-beams.
There is an inverse relationship between self-assurance and hem line I think to myself as the hunters eye the prey.
I imagine a mounted head, chandelier earrings tinkling softly above a mantlepiece. “I got that one in 2009, Victoria Day week-end” the man says depositing the scotch glass back on the coaster and smacking his lips. And I wonder about my unborn daughter and about the outfit I’ll wear the night she is conceived and about how I’ll feel when she stumbles out into the woods.