The Paper Dress

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Second prize winner of the 8th Annual Geist Literal Literary Postcard Story Contest.

Sheila had a paper dress. She took it out to show us.

Light pink, just thick enough to block the light. It neatly scraped the hanger, falling flat. How would Sheila wear this dress? Wouldn’t it rip? I didn’t understand the dress. It seemed cut from a single sheet, front and back. A pleat effect: four darts folded into a seam at the waist. Slight perforation.

I thought of poppies blowing open, streamers unrolling. Wouldn’t this dress do the same? It would refuse to fall correctly. I imagined going out in it, the risk of it catching in bus doors. Or wearing it on open sidewalks, no awnings.

And if it began to rain, how it might feel more shadowlike. More like skin.