Sharp dressed man

Butch is putting on her shades after fixing up her tie-looking sharp.
Baby will be pleased.
Stoic face flashes a grin firing finger pistols at the mirror with a-heh heh. She exits the bathroom quickly maneuvering through the narrow hallways of her family’s apartment holding her breath. Butch doesn’t want to be seen-can’t take a conversation. Mei is in the closet, she won’t be back until sometime tomorrow. Besides-Polly’s waiting.
Reaching the front door she exhales, catching the soft sound of Jade’s singing in the kitchen, and the scent of dumplings. Butch’s stomach rumbles as she turns the knob slipping away without a sound.
Once to the sidewalk Polly squeals.
“Butchy!” flinging arms and legs around shoulders and waist she takes in her scent, “You ready?” her voice is like candy, the kind that pops on your tongue. Little Miss Pocket is down for some fun as her feet hit the cement once again.
“Always,“ Butch grabs her lady by the hip and the two begin walking down the quiet street.
They haven’t discussed what they’re doing, but both figured the night would have it’s way-It always does.
What a sight our ladies are tonight! One three piece suit, one hot pink dream. Butch looking like a bluesy brother and Polly in a velvet number that would make a grown man squeal. The grin on Butch’s face let’s you know she’s savoring every moment, pulling her Pocket closer she pretends reality melts away.
The wind blows more than a breeze-the girls are in the first boulevard where apartments become houses and those houses are rather large. Another soft gust and something’s caught Polly’s attention, her nose twitches, her eyes follow the scent.
“Butch baby, do you see what I see?“ her freckled cheeks rise as her smile reaches ear to ear.
Following her eye line Butch sees a house, a house in the middle of the street. A pretty place all closed up for the night, a pretty place without a porch light.
With a smirk, “That I do my pretty, that I do.”
They begin walking their footsteps silent, and as they reach the driveway they separate. Polly heading forward, Butch taking the back-as usual. Tucking her shades into her chest pocket she spots the back gate. Every neighborhoods the same: reach over, pull up, the locks gives-no fuss. Once in she closes it silently behind her-this girl’s practiced.
The backyard is nice. One of those sweet promises fulfilled: a pool, garden, patio, and all. She breathes slowly reaching the backdoor-two bills it’s open-and so it is. She slips in.
Her ears twitch immediately. Polly’s in already heading up the staircase. Smiling she takes in the scene, no real need to rush. She’s in the kitchen, it’s modern day, fully stocked-good pick. With a grin and a flash she pulls her piece striking a cop pose before,heh heh,clearing the area. She’s moving with purpose, weapon at the ready, but she’s alone.
No bedrooms, she frowns. The house is beautiful, five rooms downstairs, but no sign of life. Silently she moves towards the stairs. There’s a thud Polly’s found a breather thump our suited heroine is on the move!
Reaching the top she meets a robed woman before she can scream Butch covers her mouth. Pushing the woman to the floor, her piece to the woman’s temple-once, twice, three times for safety. The silence helps, but she drags the body along anyway. Finding Polly in the midst of pulling a gagged man’s eyes from his face-still breathing.
Her strawberry cutie turns to her all smiles, “Clear,” then turns back to her toy pulling the remains from his sockets.
Taking in the upstairs Butch spots what looks like a kids room. She doesn’t go in. She simply walks to the door and closes it. With an easy breath she shrugs-Polly woulda done them first.
Our b&e babes clean out the joint, pulling plan: Arson Investigator Gone Wrong, and setting the place a blaze.

Blessed are the mourning

Her eyes wide as green paints her vision everything in the rearview is green!
“Frank baby! I’m not coming yet!” her mouth waters, twitches, as hysterics break. “I’m gonna get them-I’m gonna burn every motherfucker down!”
Sirens escape the toxic cloud, the red and blue lights prompting swift action with a bellowing cackle she hits the kill switch. Like a symphony the full complement sores across the sky taking out everything in every direction unfortunate enough to be on path. It’s not enough. She barrels through the streets crashing over cars leaving a wave of chaos in her wake.
First responders don’t know what to do, The Impact crew is in hot pursuit, and The Force seems to enter out of nowhere!
“Chase me motherfuckers! Chase me!” like a banshee she wails, her vision red.
Cassi wants them all. Our mourning mother is gonna blow the whole damn Nation up as her war truck reaches the district border. Letting out another cackle she hits the front artillery and the wall comes crashing down.
There’s a cost this time as several tires blow setting the truck to swerve. Keeping one hand on the wheel she grabs her pack.
“Let the games begin-let the fucking games begin!“
The truck veers off road barreling into the safe woodlands of the Harbor district. She locks the gas, grabbing the rosary off her rearview mirror before opening the door. In the distance ever closer she sees the next wall-it’s time.
Our girl pushes out of the cab as the timer finally pings her lips twitch into another hysterical fit-it worked-it all worked! Balling up before she hits the ground, rolling down the hillside, she escapes the final crescendo. The skies a beautiful display of fire like the Dark Ages 4th of July.
Mother Mary laughs continuing her descent, tumbling down, down, down.

Reactionary choices

“This is an awful idea,” Wicked groans as Graphic skips by her side.
The sounds of cars rushing by keeping her nice and tense. Our green lady tugs at her hat pulling the wide brim down with a sigh, was she glowing? Our girl is fearing pitch forks while Graphic just wants some fries.
Sticking her tongue out Graphic laughs.
“No, it’s a great idea-I don’t know why we don’t do this all of the time,” her stomach growls, “See? My stomach agrees.”
Wicked just shakes her head, watching her feet as two men in suits pass opposite them.
“I don’t know why I agreed to this-we’re supposed to be laying low,” she pulls up her gloves fidgeting all over, “Someone is going to notice” she growls, her green lips thinning as she bares teeth.
“You’ve got the money,” her companion says simply.
Her face immediately drops to a pout as Wicked stops short, gloved hands now balled fists, her green glowing eyes shining just under that wide brim.
“What!? You said it yourself it’s a waste to spend it down there,” she whispers the last words.
Wicked says nothing just continues forward, not wanting to admit, she’s just as guilty. The pair resume their walk just as before getting only a few steps before-boom.
The girls turn instinctively just in time to witness the short flight of what could only be an old militarily transport. Their eyes wide as the vehicle falls. Both backing up slowly hoping not to fall down with impact. Catching breath they can’t look away as tires fall on unsuspecting victims the red splatter almost art.
Everything slows then rapidly begins again as the truck barrels through the streets bulldozing everything in its path. The girls stand silent Wicked holding her hat down with one hand breathing steady. As they turn to begin their walk again, planes rise from underneath the now fallen building, cars-unmarked and police units alike fill the streets.
“Shit-shit-shit!” Wicked screams though in the roar of chaos her words melt away.
Units begin to race towards them, panic fills the space between them-they were supposed to be laying low. Without a second thought our Wicked witch throws her gloves off, hands glowing toxic, she flings all her panic at the cars. Green fumes permeate her flesh as the force released explodes knocking the planes out of the sky. Graphic grabs her underneath the arms propelling them into the air.
“Keep them off-I’ll get us out!” she’s laughing, but can see the fire. Our nameless little drifter knows the score-FREAKS burn.
She doesn’t respond as her glowing eyes keep focus on the streets below, the yellow man has taught her well, but is it enough?
Graphic flies above the city looking for a place to drop,but it doesn’t come. She can feel her friend grow limp, she can hear the stealth units on either side of her, and then her stomach growls.
“We’re fucked! Aren’t we?” Wicked laughs weakly. She’s falling asleep her green eyes no longer glowing.
Her stomach growls again. If they die Graphic doesn’t get fed-that’s unacceptable. With added gusto she pushes forward, eyes catching the dead zone.
“Maybe! But it won’t be here!”
The witch has already passed out practically snoring in her arms, but that’s probably for the best.
The stealth units halt as the pair fly passed the border walls, over the barbed wire, the red lights and the unmanned watchtowers.
Graphic’s smiling looking over her shoulder knowing they got away, not recognizing they were also falling out of the sky.

Showfolk and FREAKS

Once again we’re with our wicked witch, she’s cackling. In a room full of green smoke, three girls sit before her screaming at one another.
Her eyes roll, “You’ve asked the questions-now pay for the answers” her voice is a deadly kiss, her glowing green eyes fixed on easy prey.
The middle of the trio throws bills on the table her face completely soured.
“Take it-just take it,” she stands abruptly pulling the other two with her their arms linked tightly.
Their chairs fall back: one, two, three, causing the middle to jump.
And the one to her right to scream, “I can’t fucking believe you!” her eyes fixed on the one far left.
“Me?! you-you’re never there for him!“ the victim of the glare wails her blue eyes bulging out of their sockets.
Wicked can take no more.
“You two! Money. Now.” She snarls pearly white teeth revealing themselves under her ever thinning patience.
Simultaneously the girls’ focus snaps to her direction. Glaring at our soothsayer, pausing a moment before shoving fists into pockets then, just like their friend, they throw crinkled bills on the table.
“Get out,” the witch demands with an on going cackle. One that accompanies the air as it cracks into a thunderous boom which forces the trio to flee in terror.
The door closes behind them with a slam leaving Wicked to count the bills, smiling-they overpaid.
Giggling, “That was good,” Fiona comes up from behind, her body sloshing as she reforms, “how’d you know that stu-”
Scoffing she interrupts, “I didn’t.”
She folds half the earnings, turning to the thunder and smoke with a smile, “It’s not my fault they’re awful people.”
Her companion takes her cut laughing in that odd aquatic way. The green lady sighs overheating in her shoes, skin greener than before, every trick adding another godawful shade. Not to mention the body heat.
Fiona shakes her head with a smile using her newly formed hand to shape more acceptable cheeks. She’s savoring the feeling of cash-beautiful currency! But she’s not convinced in her partners denial of skill.
“Okay, yes-no is that easy. The name, though? Like the girls dad?” she’s unusually hopeful, still giggling.
Breathing deep and smiling cheek to cheek.
“Let’s just say I surprised myself with that one.”
Both burst into laughter Fiona cursing as she hiccups, a bubble escaping her freshly minted lips. Popping the delicate sphere with a long sharp fingernail Wicked sighs contently.
“Seriously we gotta work together more often.”

Anything your heart desire

“There’s a green lady somewhere in the old Candy District-where-where all-”
An impatient friend interrupts, “The Alley, right? All the black market shops,” she cups her lips in her palm as she speaks the last of it, leaning in to the group she adds, “all the FREAKS.”
The girls are in a crowded train heading to Market 3-many people are listening. Though no one really cares. People rarely do.
The first begins again, “Yes. They say,” she lowers her voice and head, “there’s a green lady-a witch,” pausing, the three exchange glances, “that can tell you anything.”
“Anything…” the girl who’s yet to speak gasps her eyes wide with possibility.
The impatient friend scoffs unimpressed, “Yeah, yeah-there’s always one: a red one who can boil bathwater, a yellow one who can make you see heaven, and a-”
The first interjects, “Shush! And lower your voice,” the last words an actual whisper, “It’s just what Jimmy told me, okay, sheesh.”
She pouts scanning the train cart praying no one they know can hear them. No one likes FREAK talk. Though, everyone loves FREAK talk.
Miss Impatient rolls her eyes as their wide eyed friend breathes, “But what if-like-what if it’s true?“
All three gasp, their eyes hungry, their plans change-it’s not a long walk from the market.
Making eye contact, each nodding firmly-the new plan is go.

Once off the train they link arms. All dressed in University uniforms showing their Pinkerton pride, pleated skirts brush up against each other as they move taking each step with purpose.
Three hungry young women pushing through the crowds as a wall. It makes the older generation smile, the Liberated love to smile.
They get to the walkway those lovely little inbetweens each girl thinking-what if.
All this dreaming makes the journey go faster as they reach the border-the district gates: open.
“They don’t close it anymore, do they?“ the wide eyed friend asks. Her heart sad for reasons she can’t comprehend. She stops so they all stop. Her big brown eyes begin to water-why?
Hearing the sadness The Impatient just sighs, “No-why would they?” Shaking her head she pulls the trio forward through the threshold, “What would they be protecting?”
Once in the new district the air changes. Of course it’s different in the inbetweens. You’re inside but Miss Impatient hates how the atmosphere changes in some places-just like the sky.
They enter closest to Manufacturing where the other district shadows The Alley, shielding everything from the light.
They shiver.
“I think it might be early,” our impatient girl states to annoyed to be terrified.
Looking around. It’s empty, but they’d have a walk to get anywhere with life.
The leader opens her mouth to speak, but gasps instead as a green light flashes across their vision.
Huddling closer they turn toward the source: the front window of a dilapidated building. Each tilt their head to the right-frozen. Silent and holding their breath they stand still. Again the green light flashes, again the girls gasp-it’s calling them.
Eyes wide they march forward. Swallowing hard, this is what we came for, they push open the soft wooden door-once a beautiful shop entrance, and walk in. The front room is empty, but another door to the girls’ left calls attention to itself. Smoke seeps from underneath-green fog beckoning them.
They press on, crossing the next threshold with bated breath. When they enter the room it’s internal pressure pulls them in-or so it feels. Their eyes all drawn to a crystal ball sitting at the source of the smoke. A cackle-they see the witch!
Her green skin becomes they’re entire focus as she hisses, “Sit-sit my guests-I have been waiting,” And, she has-the benefits of networking.
Chairs come into view as the smoke begins to move. They shuffle to the seats. Eyes yes still wide, breath: still bated.
“W-wh-who are you?” the first asks, her mouth dry.
The witch cackles again throwing her head back as the sound of thunder crashes over them.
“Who-who am I? Ha!“ green lightning strikes hitting the crystal ball then dissipating into a ghostly figment of death. “I am the one who can tell you, all you desire-SPEAK-child and tell me what you want to know,” she demands her voice raspy and full. She’s pointing a long devilish finger at the leader of the trio.
Frozen, but trying to speak the dryness holding down her tongue, “Uh… I uh… um-should I say yes to Billy?!” the words escape fat though they bleed together, her tongue slow to pronounce producing a sluggish panic.
Her friends are both in shock-say yes to what?
Lowering her head the wicked witch places two green palms just over her crystal ball and hisses. Green fire appears within its depths-the room growing hot.
She growls, “no.”
The girl’s heart sinks, but she’s silent.
“You,” a green finger extends to the wide eyed friend who now shivers with insecurity.
Swallowing hard those wide eyes close-what to ask?
Then-inspiration strikes.
“Who is my real father?!” when she opens her eyes again they’re wide, wide with panic. Her friends are mortified realizing together-no middle name.
Green lips twitch as our witch summons green flames, her crystal consumed as she growls.
“Fred R. Miller,” wide eyes sing-Mr. Miller!
“Now you,” her finger points to Little Miss Impatient.
She’s been waiting.
“Should I break up with Billy?” her voice is poison. The kind our Wicked loves.
Our green soothsayer smirks not bothering with tricks growling, “Yes”.

How teddy bears are made

Today we catch our darling STEM touring the halls of The Colony. Not hers of course, but one of five. This particular tour is her invitation. Sixteen and ready to choose-will it be genetics?
She follows a hive injector marveling at what the introduction of honey bee had done to her eyes. It wasn’t new-oh no she’s seen this before. Every Colony has them, secretaries, created right here.
Her eyes are wide-it’s beautiful!
“So, miss-”
“STEM” the young girl interrupts adjusting her glasses as she moves to the left of her guide, eyes fixed.
The injector knows what she’s looking at-they all look! Who wouldn’t?
“Ah, yes, STEM,” she smiles. Her eyes all a flutter as she nods politely ,“So. STEM,” extending her arm she beckons forward, “as you can see our facilities are up to date with all Colony upgrades coming to us prior to any other location. I’m sure you are aware that this location is responsible for all Adapted like myself.”
Delicate, almost impossibly thin hands touch her chest as she fully faces her guest. To her displeasure the child is still fixated on her eyes, like all Honey Bee Adapted her eyes had grown and split forming into compound structures, unlike other Adapted they retained their color. Blue. Soft, ice blue-now in compound! Everybody stares.
“STEM, if I could redirect your attention to the workstations behind us you may-”
Moving closer to the guides face, uncomfortably so, the curious teen pushes her round glasses up pointed nose, examining.
“No, I’m not interested in anything behind you,” her face is dangerously close to the Injector’s right eye, “You’ve got to tell me about this. I’m curious. Have-”
“Miss!” she stamps her sensibly heeled foot almost losing her manners, “You are here to examine the facilities-not my eyes! And I would kindly ask you to respect my personal space,” her voice has its usual ever present tremble, but her annoyance is clear.
STEM shrugs taking a step back, “Look we wouldn’t be having this discussion if you’d show me something good. I really don’t want to see the Ticket masters, or the Adapters-everyone has seen the footage. Show me the labs.”
Our fiery colonist sighs. STEM knows where she’ll end up and it has way more explosions. She’s only really here because they told her to visit at least three facilities.
The Honey Bee is displeased-this is her favorite part! But this is not her tour and customer service is a must.
“Very well, follow me.”

STEM follows her down deeper into The Colony the glass elevator doors revealing floors of animal enclosures which the Injector explains is for breeding and conservation. Some of the species: spectacular colors, others hidden in exotic plants-wonders rarely seen outside these walls. The only perk it’d seem of choosing this life.
“You wanted something good, correct? Well this is something magical.”
The doors split open revealing not an animal enclosure, but what looked like a storage room. Grey and almost industrial looking. STEM is not pleased and it’s noticeable in her frown.
“Well don’t just stand there looking sour, come out and see,” she extends her arms, smiles wide, “This is where teddy bears come from!” her giggle is a vibrating buzz.
Round lenses gleam, “Teddy bears, you say?“
Inside the room she finds the walls are lined with metal boxes, each square numbered with rectangular slits at the top.
“Yes, those cute, cuddly companions introduced to us long, long ago by a dead president-created right here! Just open that slot.”
She’s standing next to STEM now almost to her shoulder.
“Just grab the tab and turn it to the left. I suggest 253-she’s the cutest!”
Taking one step forward and then another she inhales, deeply, slender fingers taking hold of the tab. She exhales, something doesn’t feel right. Sliding the tab with a shh and locking it into place with a clank she sees it, the teddy bear.

nose wiggles sniffing the fresh air.

STEM inhales sharply slamming the slot shut. The action elicits a wave of pathetic adorable moans originating from center, but fillingp the room in an instant. She jumps back bumping into the bee.
“Cute, huh?” she’s smiling, but our little lady is just frustrated.
“That’s a live bear? Like from before? In a box? You put a bear in a box?” STEM can’t help herself.
“Me? Oh no, I’m just a worker. No, but the toy makers do-that’s what we call them internally. Selective breeders handle the bears and when these little guys are ready-well they are just the most loving creatures.”
Our girl hates pointlessness.
“I’m done here,” Throwing her hands up she heads towards the elevator mumbling, “goddamned bears in boxes.“


Opening the trunk she finds pastel sweaters-Easter wear. She’s not exactly pleased with any of this, but she grabs a blue one and closes the trunk. She’s extremely uncomfortable and it shows. In front of the full mirror see can’t shake it from her smile-she’s dying.
First of all she’s not a dress girl and when she does partake it’s certainly not in a sundress. Which, certainly wouldn’t be in white-or rather, eggshell.
She begins making faces in the mirror. Sticking out her tongue and bulging her eyes just so she can laugh a bit. The blue sweater goes about her shoulders, heavy, but once secure she fixes her bow. Yes, her hair has a pretty ribbon in it tied in a bow to make up for the short hair. At least that’s why-mother insisted.
She runs hands down her stomach hating how she looks like her mother. If it wasn’t for the purple hair it’d almost be like looking at her picture. They have the same face, same eyes, and nose. She thinks still gazing at her features but-I’m nothing like her.
She should get downstairs, but she can’t get her feet to move. Her mind wanders while staring at her face I’m not going to end up like this… oh man… I do look pretty though. She frowns. She does look rather fetching, and for a moment she wonders if her feet won’t move because of fear. She shakes the thought away exiting-defiantly.
When she joins the party her sisters beckon her, each holding glasses of brandy, eyes glowing with glee. The children had started the egg hunt. They exchange kisses and pleasantries while watching them. Her nieces and nephews laugh frantically, all so amused and for a moment having purple hair feels rather-foolish.

Sweet dreams are made of

We once again find ourselves falling. Crashing, really. Graphic and Wicked collide with a roof and then with a couch though with roof under them it really doesn’t matter.
They’re surrounded by the old world, the old, old world. Picture frames still hang on the walls, trinkets lay out on tables, and a fireplace sits before them with a radio on it’s mantel. The girls don’t see this. They don’t see anything at all. Graphic sleeps, deep and hungry. Wicked’s waking up, but she can already tell-they’re no longer in Kansas. She finally understands what that means.
Eyes still closed she reaches for Graphic, “Dude… you alive?” smelling the air: it’s entirely foreign. It almost burns her nostrils and then she remembers.
“We-we went over-we went over!” eyes burst open, “Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-wake up!” pulling rubble off her slumbering friend she feels the burn of untempered sun, she’s panicking.
Her skin’s growing greener the previous expulsion long gone, it’s effects rendered useless. Grabbing Graphic by the shoulders she shakes her violently.
“Wake up-wake up!“ she tries to keep quiet afraid of what could be around.
Graphic doesn’t stir only mumbles and drools. Wicked’s eyes bulge, her heart’s pounding while breathing in the heavy acid air. The freshness is killer. She looks around, it’s just a normal house. A normal centuries old house. A dead person’s house, a long, dead, person’s house. She prefers the sewers. As she looks at the dusty walls all the pictures blank destroyed over time-all the colors faded, hey mouth goes dry.
“Graphic get up-please-please wake up you bitch! You have to get us out of here!”
They should be dead-completely, and utterly dead. Wicked bought the warning: hook, line, and sinker. They’re in the dead zone and her only way home is dreaming of fried chicken.

The fast and the truly evil

“There is a difference, you see, between myself and every villain you’ve watched on television, or read in a book.” Her eyes are piercing as she looks through the glass between us. It’s thick and I’ve no way to get to her or them.
“You’ve seen this before, have you not? Or something like it,” her smile breaks, cold, and deadly.
I want to speak, to scream, but my mouth is dry. My children, my precious babies, sit on the floor behind her, their eyes are wide. Holding my youngest in her arms, my chest heaves, but I cannot speak I just clutch the metal suitcase.
“You let her go. You let her live. Now you must learn-”
Slamming free fist to glass, “I did what you asked! I did what you wanted!”
Tears begin to pour, hot and panicked down my cheeks the weakness presenting in fever. Her hand falls to Tommy’s cheek, he coos, his little eyes watching me through the glass, reaching, but unable to find me.
“Don’t hurt them! Please! Please don’t hurt them!”
Forehead on the glass, tears continuing to run down my face, she watches. She watches, petting my child-my Tommy!
Eyes steel, her voice throaty, deadly, “I don’t want you to beg, but you will learn.”
Lifting Tommy’s face to her own, her lips nearly on his cheek, her eyes peering up at me, amused, “So cute at this age, so innocent, so pure.”
“Don’t touch him! Don’t touch him!” Screams escape as I look to my three older children, tape over their precious little mouths, unbound, but immobile.
“Enough,” the boom of her voice silences me, instantly, causing Tommy to stiffen and gaze up at his captor, eyes fill with love, begging in that infant way to be safe.
“You need to be taught-”
“What!? What do I need to learn!? Teach me! Teach me!”
As all my fury escapes me her smile grows, her head lifts from my child, and her eyes sparkle. Sobs take over as Tommy begins to reach out again cooing ‘mama.’
“Then give me back my children… please… please!”
“What did I say about begging? Don’t be so, utterly, pathetic.”
“Why? Why are you doing this? I did what you wanted… I did-”
“You did this. You are the reason we stand here now. Not me. You will learn though, that all actions have consequences, and all choices are actions.”
Her fingers delicately run across Tommy’s chin.
“You chose not to fire the gun, not to re-obtain the package on your own, and then to let her live by threatening another member of my staff?” every word is sharp I can no longer breathe as each moment plays before my eyes, “Though I do understand why you made those choices, probably better than you, there are still consequences.”
Terror grips my heart as her hand takes his chin fully, and her lips spread across her cheeks.
“I am in control here, Vanessa, but still you thought to make independent choices,” shrugging with her eyebrows she sighs, “You must be reminded who has the power to make those choices, the only person who has the power to make those choices, and that, is me.”
Her last words escape as a crack is heard and Tommy’s head falls to one side.
“You chose to let her live, I chose to kill your child. Don’t make choices on your own again.”
Dropping Tommy like a rag doll she turns to my three remaining children nodding towards the exit. This whole time they didn’t make a sound, and now, still silent, they rise from the floor exiting as ordered.
“There is a difference between true power, true evil, and what the world imagines it to be. Vanessa, I am, that difference. Now, leave and await your next assignment.”

The new Brenda

“GET ME THAT FOOTAGE OR YOU’RE FIRED!” Cindy screams throwing her script at the assistant’s face. “I am sick of these limp stories! This is the Cindy Owens show! The Cindy Owens show people!” stamping heeled foot she rages, “I need more from you,” her screams turn to coos, “Okay, sugar?” she grabs her assistant’s face he’s a young man, but everybody fears Cindy. Everybody. “I need you to get me that footage,” the last words a threat.
He gulps. This boy is shaking in his cheap shoes. He’s never felt this way and he doesn’t like it, but he swallows deep. “H-h-how? T-th,” he swallows hard once more, “they said no media I-”
Pinching his chin between her thumb and index finger she smiles, “Oh honey is that all? You go back and you tell them Mrs. Owens sent you. Can you do that sugar? Bring back the footage and,” in a loud whisper, “keep your job.”
Brett remembers Brenda and knows his dick won’t save his career. He’s not gold, after all. “Yes ma’am. I’ll return with the footage,” he turns quickly to get started, but before he gets away-smack.
Cindy’s palm finds his ass, “That’s a good boy,” the sound of her voice is humiliating, purposely so. Then she squeezes, he swallows, hard.Taking a deep breath he ignores the gasp from one of the female grips, and he shoots hard angry eyes at his colleagues assuming glances. He keeps walking. Head high, don’t let’em see you cry.
Then Cindy orders, “Move people! Back to work we’ve got a B&E to cover-get that cellphone footage up and running.” He can hear the room forgetting him. Just like they forgot Brenda, but unlike that bitch, Brett’s coming back-with or without the footage.