The worst part of her day had begun; her comically oversized eyes opened with great pain. Without consciousness, she reached for the Chardonnay from the night before. "Fuck", she screamed with her deep dusty voice,the glass crashing over, onto another dead or dying cell phone. She really liked her old phone, the color mostly, the ghastly calls, matching its blood wine sheen. The barrage of bloody mayhem it welcomed. Oh, to swim in the oblivion that wine brings; The subtle regression to passion filled moments now long gone. Dammit she had to get up, a Bloody Mary was in need of a drinker. She wanted to beat the unrelenting sound of the buzz, fucking crappy digital pollution to the ears. Grappling with the sweat soaked sheets, like a whore held hostage; bondage by bed she begrudgingly started her escape.
One leg at a time she told herself, one very long leg at a time. At 5’9” those legs went on and on until they made a perfectly round ass of themselves. At any minute the blood soaked images from last night would invade her mind, taking over everything else her eyes could see. Just as she was quietly putting ice in her glass, her ears were under attack. “Shit” yelling at the walls, “Who the hell comes up with this crap”, glaring at the cell phone bouncing around on the table, laughing it’s own hideous alert, and again it singed her ears, with a reminder, that she had missed the first. Blu was still mixing her drink as she ended the digital pollution, it was off. Knowing, that intruder was not going to stop, not today, not tomorrow, not until she had safely packed her human side up, and hid it in the darkest recesses of her mind. It was time to go to work.
Another punch, loud and clear came from the phone; she knew she was answering that phone, that evil, powered off phone. The grizzly voice on the other end, the cough that was more of a death rattle only much louder, was no stranger. So she stuck to her rules: First fill her throat and mouth with the alcoholic beverage at hand, then swallow or gulp, and lastly wait for the ease the burn would bring; then and only then would she receive her caller.
“Fucker”, her way of a hello. “Oh, I didn’t fuck her or the other two,. Good suggestion though. I will keep it under my hat for the next group of pretty young things in need of a good hatch job.” “Hatch job? Don’t you mean skinning! What do you need revenge I will help you get it. Justice I will help you take out your own, but on the one deserving of it. Body count 13, Psycho-fuck, that’s you, zip. You got nothing but your sick memories to jerk off to. You can bet your dick, I am going to find you."
