Megan was out of her element.

The thumping, driving beat made her insides vibrate in a way that was not at all comfortable. All around her, revelers covered in iridescent body paint jumped and danced and swayed with drinks in their hands and god knew what else in their bloodstreams.

Ugh, judgy. Megan always got judgy when she felt out of place.

Her best friend Gary was somewhere out there, among the dancing throngs. Every minute or so, she would catch him in a new place, laughing, dancing, having fun. Gary was the one who brought her here. “Just for a few minutes,” he begged. “The DJ who’s playing tonight is amazing!”

Megan uncrossed her arms in a underwhelming attempt to seem more approachable.

That was when the sea of people parted and Megan saw her – the girl in the poodle skirt.

It was cosplay, of course. No one wore poodle skirts in 2019. Except this girl, with the shimmering glitter paint on her face. The black felt leash loop-de-looped from her waist band, down along the crinoline-backed pepto-bismol pink fabric, ending in a darling little poodle with ribbons tied to its ears and tail.

When she got to the poodle, Megan was transported.

She was eleven. Away at summer camp for the first time, enduring the obligatory sock hop. Leaning against the side of the picnic pavilion, she uncrossed her arms in an underwhelming attempt to seem more approachable. But no one asked her dance. No one ever asked her to dance. Megan stared at the girl in the poodle skirt, twirling in the middle of the dance floor, captivating the crowd.

That girl – the one who jumped and danced and swayed in the cool promise of a summer evening under the picnic pavilion was Megan’s sister Lila. And she was gone. Like, forever.

Sharp inhale, and Megan was back at the rave. Her head pounded in time with the thumping music. 2019 poodle skirt girl was gone. Gary was gone. Her head was spinning a little too fast. She took two steps toward the ladies room and everything went black.

“I didn’t mean to answer the call,” she murmured, as she slipped into the warm embrace of unconsciousness.


About Prompt-A-Day: The rules are simple. Every day, I generate a prompt¬†using Story Shack’s awesome writing prompt generator. Then I set a timer for one hour. At the end of the hour, I post what I’ve got. Sometimes it’s decent. Sometimes it sucks. Sometimes I fail at the prompt. Sometimes I do okay. I do not edit, unless I find a typo, because I can’t help fixing those. Feel free to join in and post a link to your writing in the comments.