Flash fiction: death dress (inside an ADHD mind)

Ooh, a parcel! 

What is it, I wonder. 

Don’t remember having ordered anything.

It’s a dress! 

A pink dress.

A smart, very fitted, very pink dress. 

The kind Molly Ringwald would wear if she’d played Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. 

More their size than mine too. Haven’t been a size 8 in... never. 

Amazing how much random stuff I buy online. 

But seriously, I don’t remember ordering this. 

Not for me, not for my daughter’s prom 15 years from now (keep up the good nap, baby girl). 

But it’s addressed to me. 

My name, my address.

Carefully handwritten. 

I could never fit into this dress.

Unless. 

Maybe this is my deathbed dress.

Straight from Dead Pretty Future Limited to tell me what’s in store. 

What if I got cancer? 

My monster under the bed.

I would lose weight. Lots of weight.

Finally, only half of me left!

Lifelong fantasy, dressing in ‘normal’ clothes, fulfilled! 

One small counter indication:

Comes with drastically diminished life prospects.

‘She was so young, so talented. 

Not that anyone will know now. 

Life is so unfair.’

‘Yeah, but didn’t she look great in her casket?’

Who the fuck sent me this bloody pink dress.