Each morning, Shannet Kratt was perfectly together by eight A.M. Mrs. Pratt had perfectly tinted blond hair, never a length too long or shor but just perfect. If ever one hair should fall out of place, a touch of purse spray was only an arm's length away. Every ensemble color coordinated with belts, hose, and earrings to be placed on her dainty lobes. Her lipstick was always in agreement with her tanned and clear complexion.
Shannet was beautiful, but only of the artificial kind;
all that mattered to Shannet was that she looked devine.
Devinely perfect.
Her clothes were perfect, her make-up was perfect, and the shoes...those were perfect too. There were vast varieties of them, in all styles and colors. Flats in blue, red, orange, green, and yes, even taupe. Shannet owned spiked heels, mini heels, clunky heels, tennis shoes, running shoes, and shoes for all occasions. It was a cornicopia of patent-leather heaven.
Shannet was busy admiring her shoes, which were all kept behind an elaborate glass closet. She was absolutely taken in by their perfect magnificence that she never noticed Clyde packing his clothes on the other side.
Swearing and muttering under his breath, his dear perfect wife hadn't any clue as to what Clyde was up to. Slamming his suitcase shut and fastening the locks, Clyde took his suitcase and rumbled off.
Only taking notice of the trembling glass case as he was making his escape, Shannet saw him at the door with his suitcase.
To the living room she raced.
A woebegone expression graced Shannet's face.
"What's all this about, trembling my case?
Haven't you any decency, are you full of disgrace?"
She asked with her hand on her hip.
"I am leaving you, Shannet, and there is nothing you can do!
I'm through with living perfect, I'm through living with you!"
Clyde said, and then departed.
How dare she love something so inane? Perfection isn't something you can hold, or one to love. It's only something invented, that hollow Shannet!
Later that evening after he said his goodbyes, Shannet was left all to her lonesome. While she slept, a dark figure crept, circling her perfect waterbed.
The dark, creeping thief drove Shannet from her sleep. Shannet leapt up from her bed and was ready to defend.
Even in the darkest hours, her hair was still quaffed and perfect.
"I say back off!"
Shannet warned.
The thief said nothing back.
Shannet ran from the bedroom and the thief still stood, gragging from the glass cabinet a pair of spiked heels. The theif hurled them at herone by one. Eventually one stabbed Shannet in her once perfect blue eye, killing her instantly.
The thief approached with silent footsteps. Ripping the shoe from the bloody orb, which used to be her eye, the thief threw it to the side. Pulling off his mask, Clyde's truth was revealed. This was what she got for being so perfectly not.
Trading real love in for perfection is sometimes an answer of a more twisted fate.
"The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away."
Thrill you now, kill you later
is what they should really say.
