Peach Sunday Decadence

Sundays were always a day to indulge herself. They were lazy days with a big meal in the middle that left her feeling full and tired for the rest of the day. She always felt guilty for having that second helping of pudding, but someone had to eat it. “Remember, dear, a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips,” her mother would always say, but that would just make her want to eat more.

“Let me take your picture,” he said, a big smile on his face. His eyes were wide and he smiled gently as he admired her.

“No,” she frowned, “I look like a whale.” She didn’t want him to take a picture of her, not today, not on a Sunday. Not when she wasn’t properly dressed, and had eaten too much. He might show it to people, and she’d be so embarrassed.

“Come on, just let me take a quick shot here, the light’s great, you’ll look fantastic.” He flashed her a smile that he knew she couldn’t resist.

“Fine,” she said, and half smiled, half frowned at him. She sat down on the matt by the door and grabbed one of the balloons her cousins had been playing with earlier. She held it in front of her, here was something she could hide behind.

“What’s with the balloon? I can’t see you?” he complained.

“I’m surprised you can tell us apart, it looks just like me. I’m huge!” she smiled as she said it, but she wasn’t joking. In her mind’s eye she looked just like the balloon, big and round and ready to burst. She couldn’t understand why anyone would want to look at her like this. She didn’t smile as he pointed the camera at her, she just held on to the balloon, hoping that he couldn’t see her behind it.

He sighed gently to himself as he took the photo. He knew what she was thinking, he always did. He just wished she could see herself through his eyes. He wished she could see the radiant beauty, the perfection of form, the curves that set his heart aflame. The light from the window made her hair sparkle and, to him, she looked for all the world like an angel. His angel. He realised that he’d been holding his breath since he’d taken the picture and gasped slightly.

“Oh, is it that bad?” she cringed.

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Ian Sharman
Ian is a freelance writer and artist. He founded Orang Utan Comics Studio with Peter Rogers in 2006, writes for their Eagle Award Nominated anthology Eleventh Hour and regularly inks for Panini’s Marvel Heroes comic.
Ian Sharman

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