Mandy White's Blog: Dysfictional, page 16

Don’t Stop

Since this is your first night and all, I’ll just ride along and keep ya company. I’ll help out if ya need it, but otherwise, I’m not even here. Just think of me as a ghost or somethin’. There ain’t a lot to this job, just cram them papers in the mailboxes or bag and chuck ‘em in driveways. Just a lot of driving is all. Oh yeah, you’ll log a lotta miles. We call this route the car killer. Oh, people scoff, sure, after all it’s a paper route, but it’s not like you’re a little kid on his bike throwing a few papers after school. This here’s a real job, and it ain’t for no kids. It pays well, but there’s good reason for it. You’re out here at night, all alone, in all kinds of weather. This ‘little paper route’, as they call it, bought me a shiny red Jeep and paid off my mortgage. Which reminds me, ya might wanna look into upgrading your vehicle to something with four wheel drive. This lil’ sports car you got is cute, and it’s prolly good on gas, but son, you gonna want a four-by when the roads git nasty. You’re gonna be out here before the snow plows most nights, and ain’t nobody around to help out if you get stuck. No cell service either, in most places. If you get stuck, you’re on your own.

You’ll do fine kid, if you just remember one thing: Don’t stop for nothing or no one, no matter what you see. Don’t pick up hitchhikers. Don’t offer rides, and for the love of god don’t stop to offer assistance. If you see someone broke down beside the road, keep moving. Do NOT stop! Ya hear me, son? Even if it’s a wreck. You keep drivin’. Get a safe distance away, find some cell service and call 911. That’s how you help. Don’t never, ever stop, no matter what you see.

I done this job for years, and I tell ya, I seen a lot of things. It’s a different world out here at night. People have no idea. While they’re asleep in their beds, things happen that they don’t see during the day. Animals prowl around, that’s a given. But there are other things, too. Things they don’t see in their happy lives during the day.

Things look different in the dark. Guess you noticed that. No color out here. One of the other drivers I worked with, she had a route over in Dexter, I think. Anyhoo, she dyed her hair all kinda crazy colors. Pink, purple, blue. Every few weeks she’d have a different color. She said it was because she lived in a black and white world, out there at night, and she craved color, like someone would crave a kind of food or something. Her brain wanted to see colors, on account of she slept all day and only saw the night. Ain’t that a thing? I guess it makes sense, though.

Anyways, what was I saying? Oh, yeah. Different. Things look different in the dark. Especially when it’s foggy. Things look like shit they ain’t. A trash can looks like an animal. A tree stump looks like a person standing there. Now, I ain’t no scardey-cat. I seen combat in my time. I been around the block a few times. But this job, it plays games with your mind. Make you see things that ain’t what they seem. I tell ya, there’s one thing that’s always scared the shit outta me – seeing a person somewhere where a person ain’t got no business bein’. Like you’re on a deserted road in the middle of the night, miles from any house. If you see a person out in the middle of nowhere, you can be sure of one of two things: Either that person is in trouble, or they are trouble. You don’t wanna find out first hand. Folks have disappeared on these roads. Full grown men, some of them. Remember that guy awhile back? Vehicle left running on the side of the road. Wallet, cell phone still inside. But the guy was just gone.

I seen some shit out here though. One night, there was a wreck. I stopped, even though I knew I shouldn’t have. Car was twisted, like it’d hit a steel pole doing a hundred. Just wrapped around something. But there it was, in the middle of the road. Whatever it hit, just wasn’t there. I thought maybe an animal, like a bear or moose… but there was nothing, you understand? No blood, no fur, no nothing. I figured for sure I was gonna find a dead body, or someone near death. But the driver’s seat was empty. Nothing. No blood. Airbag wasn’t deployed. If the driver wasn’t wearing a seatbelt they woulda gone through the windshield. Windshield was intact. No way someone coulda wrecked a car like this and not been hurt. And yet they were gone.

In fact, it was right around here somewhere. Yeah, it was that road. The one you’re turning onto now. I always hated this one. Just one delivery, way down the end of the road. Pain in the ass. And way out in the middle of nothing. The wreck was right there up the road. See that red Jeep? Was right there.

Wait – what’re you doin’, son? Don’t stop! Didn’t you hear a word I told you? Don’t stop! Just drive on by.

Aw shit. Now you’ve done it. Sorry kid, you’re on your own. I ain’t stickin’ around for this one.

This is where I get out. Seeya.

* * *

Kevin looked at the stack of undelivered newspapers on his passenger seat and stifled a yawn. He was going to have to get used to this new schedule. He wondered how the other drivers did it. The old guy who had had the route before him had done it for years, up until he died. The pay was awesome, but he couldn’t imagine doing it long term. He figured the job would be extinct soon. The younger generation didn’t read paper newspapers, and the current customers were dying of old age. He gave it five years max.

His GPS announced that he needed to turn on the next street. He made the turn. Damn, it was dark out there. No streetlights. Just trees and fog.

A dark shape on the roadside caught his eye. As he neared the object, the twisted image of a wrecked vehicle became clear. A red Jeep, from the look of it.

“Holy shit!”

He screeched to a stop beside the wreck and jumped out, leaving the car idling.

* * *

 “Looks like we need a new carrier for route 8020.”

“Shit! Again? You thought that last kid was going to work out. He seemed really stoked about the pay.”

“Maybe so, but he no-showed last night. And the route was only half finished the night before. We got a lot of pissed off customers. Can’t have that. We need someone reliable. That literally is the only requirement for this job. Just show up and do it from start to finish. Is that really so difficult?”

“What are you going to do until you find someone?”

“I’m the supervisor, so I’ll have to do it until we get another driver.”

“Damn it, Gary, are you serious? I really hate the thought of you out there all night while I’m stuck at home alone.”

“You aren’t alone. You have the kids. And the dog.”

“Still, though. I wish you didn’t have to.”

“It’s part of my job. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. It’s just temporary.”

Copyright © 2018 Mandy White

Published in Dysfictional 3

Vacation

This story is a sequel to Battle of the Bean, published in Dysfictional 2 and Goin’ Extinct Too by WPaD

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

“How much farther?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m bored. Can’t we stop somewhere?”

“Will you stop harassing me? We will get there when we get there.”

“Don’t yell at the children, Dax. They’re just restless. They’ve been cooped up in this vehicle for ages. Can’t we find a place to stop so they can get some exercise?” Sky said.

“Where would you suggest?”

“I’m sure there’s someplace suitable around here. How about that place?”

“What if it’s no good?”

“There’s only one way to find out. Scan it.”

Dax entered the coordinates into the computer and read the results.

“Sounds ok, but might be some kind of tourist trap.”

“Well, we’re tourists, so it sounds perfect.”

Dax sighed. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to stop and stretch our legs for a while. Maybe we will find a nice place to camp.”

“That’s the spirit. We’re on vacation. Let’s relax and enjoy ourselves.”

* * *

The place looked promising. Clean air, trees, plenty of water. The children scrambled out of the vehicle and rushed toward the beach. Within moments they were splashing happily in the water.

Sky nuzzled her mate. “See? That was all they needed. Why don’t you relax while I find us something to eat?”

Dax was feeling more relaxed already. The place was pretty nice, he had to admit. Maybe they could stay a while. It seemed like a great place to spend a holiday.

Sky wandered away, taking in the sights while Dax basked in the sun, lying on a large flat rock near the water. Some time later, Sky returned, her arms filled with tasty looking food.

“What are those?” Dax asked.

“I don’t know, but they taste good. Here, try one.” She handed a wriggling, furry creature to Dax.

“Children! Come and get something to eat!”

“But I wanna swim!” Chi whined.

“You can go back and swim after you eat something and warm up for a little while. You don’t want to get a chill,” Sky ordered.

Pouting, Chi and Dik left the water and joined their parents on the beach. Their reluctance quickly turned to enthusiasm when they saw the delicious treats their mother had brought.

“This is nice, don’t you think, Honey?” Sky said, gazing up at the brilliant blue sky.

“It sure is,” Dax agreed, “Why don’t we stay here for a while and camp? Looks like we have the whole place to ourselves.”

“Yes! Let’s do it.” Sky said.

“Yay!” the children shouted in unison.

* * *

The next day, the children did some exploring while their parents napped in the sun. They happened upon a strange object.

“Wonder what this is?” Chi said, examining the rounded metal thing.

“I think it’s some kind of lid. Help me open it.”

The steel door groaned open. They peered into the hole, closing their inner eyelids against the rising dust.

“What is this?”

“I’m not sure. Looks like some kind of ancient ruins. There’s a cave or something down there. Let’s go down and check it out.”

They scuttled down the shaft into the cavern below.

“Look there! Bones! What kind of creature is that?”

“I don’t know, but it’s not one of us. Look, only four appendages and it doesn’t even have a tail! Must be some kind of weird old fossil.”

“What’s that object beside it?”

Dik’s webbed, green-scaled hand reached for the metal object.

“Is it some kind of weapon?” Chi asked.

“I don’t think so. Maybe it’s food or something. Look, I can open it.”

Sniff. Sniff.

“What is that?”

“I don’t know, but it smells delicious! Should we taste it?”

“No, it might be poison. Let’s go and ask Mom first.”

“What’s this other thing?”

“I don’t know, but it looks like it was as important to this creature as that container. It died holding both of them.”

* * *

They ran back to their parents carrying the metal container and the other strange object they had found clutched in the arms of the fossilized remains.

“Mom! Dad! Look what we found!”

Dax and Sky examined the objects their children had found. The container was filled with dry, dark brown granules that had an intoxicating aroma. The other object appeared to be a collection of ancient writings, inscribed on thin sheets of a brittle, delicate material.

“I’ll scan this with the ship’s computer. Maybe we can decode it,” Dax said.

He scanned the documents and then left the computer to analyze the alien language. Meanwhile, the family went out to explore, starting with the cave the children had found.

It appeared to be some sort of underground home, accessed by a metal tube. The remains of a lone life form lay below. Nearby, they found some ancient ruins, above ground. Inside, they found the remains of another life form, and its death appeared to have been caused by a large hole in its head.

“What happened to these creatures?” Sky wondered aloud. “Do you think any of them are left?”

“I don’t know,” Dax said. Maybe those ancient writings will have a clue.”

“Let’s look around some more. These things are fascinating if nothing else.”

Some distance away, they found more ancient ruins that appeared to be untouched since the demise of the civilization that had built them. It was an archaeological marvel, this crumbling city, destroyed by some sort of war or disaster. They found more remains, lying where they had fallen. Whatever had happened, not everyone had seen it coming.

They explored until dusk, and then returned to camp. Dax checked on the ship’s computer to see if it had made any progress decoding the ancient language. It had. The results were amazing.

“Sky! Children! Come here! You have to see this!”

They crowded around the screen as Dax read what the computer had translated.

“According to what the being in the cave inscribed, this planet was once a thriving civilization, but it was destroyed by war. That cave was not a home, but a shelter, built to withstand the blast. It seems that poor fellow went down there to escape the war and ended up starving to death, even though he could have come back to the surface.”

“What made him stay down there?”

“He was protecting a substance more valuable than anything on the planet; the very cause of the war. It seemed this civilization worshiped the substance, until one day the plant that provided it became extinct. When the supply ran out, war broke out. They bombed themselves out of existence with their own weapons. That guy found a treasure trove of the valuable substance down in the shelter, so he went to ground and locked himself in. He had one container left when he ran out of water. He died down there, probably of starvation, locked in with his treasure.”

“The container! That must be the treasure!” Chi exchanged an excited look with her brother. “We just found the most valuable thing on the planet!”

“So, what exactly is this treasure?” Sky asked. “What makes it so valuable?”

Dax leaned over the screen again.

“It says here that it’s some sort of drink. They called it COF-FEE.”

Copyright © 2018 Mandy White

This story is a sequel to Battle of the Bean, published in Dysfictional 2 and Goin’ Extinct Too by WPaD

Battle of the Bean

The coffee apocalypse… is it inevitable? And what would it look like?

It was the end of the world as we knew it, and nobody felt fine. Remember that song by R.E.M.? It’s been stuck inside my head since this whole thing began.

Anarchy reigned; society was in chaos. People rioted in the streets. Yadda-yadda apocalypse…

All because of one little thing. A tiny thing, really. Not quite miniscule, perhaps the size of a pea, but a tiny thing nonetheless.

The all-powerful coffee bean.

We were warned of the impending extinction of our precious bean, but like so many warnings before it, we chose to ignore it until forced to confront the ugly truth.

It began early in the century, when farmers in Colombia noticed a troublesome blight affecting the Arabica plants. The blight, known as “coffee rust”, was a type of fungus that spread rapidly, despite all efforts to eradicate it.

Some blamed pollution, others blamed global warming, but regardless of whom or what was to blame, Arabica crops in Latin America were wiped out by 2027, and from there it spread to crops in Africa.

Still, the public pooh-poohed. As long as Starbucks kept pouring eight-dollar lattes, there was no cause for alarm. The problem was far away from their sheltered yuppie environment. Cultivation was the farmers’ problem, not theirs. Even when the Arabica crops were gone and the price of that particular variety skyrocketed, people simply switched blends.

It wasn’t until every coffee plant on the planet was dead that we were willing to acknowledge that we had a problem. The problem escalated to catastrophic levels when the governments took control of the world’s remaining supply of coffee.

Coffee disappeared from supermarket shelves. Starbucks went out of business. Coffee shops with boarded-up windows littered the urban landscape.

At more than ten times the price per kilo, coffee replaced cocaine as Colombia’s most lucrative illegal export. Coffee cartels waged war on each other in hopes of controlling the world’s dwindling supplies of the precious brown bean. Penalties for smuggling coffee ranged from several years to life in prison or even death by firing squad, depending on which country one was arrested in, but that didn’t stop an intrepid few from trying their luck.

Street value of an ounce of ground coffee climbed higher than that of gold. Users traded automatic weapons, priceless family heirlooms and even the deeds to their homes for a cup of espresso, just to get one more fix of that aromatic black nectar.

We tried consuming tea, colas and caffeine pills, but it didn’t take us long to learn that caffeine wasn’t what gave coffee its addictive nature. It turned out there was another ingredient we had overlooked. A mystery ingredient that latched onto the brain much like cocaine did. Suffice it to say, lack of this ingredient made some people very unhappy indeed. Scientists analyzed it, tried to isolate it and tried to synthesize it but to no avail.

The increase in violent crimes due to coffee withdrawal led to the global legalization of marijuana. Pounds of Purple Kush, Amsterdam Indica and BC Big Bud now occupied the shelf space that had once displayed pounds of French Roast, Breakfast Blend and Decaf. A society of anxious, stressed-out bean-hounds became laid-back and complacent, sleepily smiling as they crammed their mouths full of snacks.

Of course, there were still the hardcore addicts, for whom nothing else but the bitter ambrosia would do. White-collar professionals became organized crime bosses, dealing the world’s most valuable substance to street addicts, some of them former colleagues. When the coffee finally ran out, one country accused the next of hoarding it, even though nobody had any coffee anymore.

With everyone at each other’s throats, the UN dissolved. Their final meeting ended in a massive brawl; a Battle Royal between nearly 200 delegates that resolved nothing. The situation deteriorated to the point of war, with everyone pointing warheads at everyone else.

With a bunch of coffee-starved world leaders holding their jittery fingers over the red button, I did what any sensible man would, and went to ground.

I found the bomb shelter in my neighbor’s back yard after investigating the sound of a gunshot. I found him at his kitchen table, where he had been trying to snort lines of instant coffee before giving up and swallowing the barrel of his .357. Poor bastard – everyone knows there’s no real coffee in that instant stuff, but looks like he died trying.

I found a shovel and thought I’d do the neighborly thing and give him a decent burial, but damn, the ground was hard! I tried a few different spots but kept hitting rocks, then at one point I hit something metal. Curious, I dug it up, and damned if I didn’t find a bomb shelter! Probably built during World War II and long forgotten under layers of landscaping. My neighbor probably bought the house without even knowing it existed.

So, when the threat of nuclear war became imminent, I packed some supplies and retreated into the shelter with plans to stay put for a few weeks or months until the coast was clear. I brought food, plenty of water, books to read, flashlights and batteries, but I needn’t have bothered to pack so much because when I got down there I discovered the shelves well-stocked. Sure, eighty-year-old canned goods might not be ideal, but they were better than nothing if it came down to it. I scanned my flashlight over the shelves and lo and behold! What did I see? Coffee! Cans and cans of magnificent, marvelous coffee!

I had packed a butane camp stove and several cases of fuel, so I was all set to prepare hot meals. Now hot coffee would accompany those meals! This dark, dusty hole in the ground had suddenly become paradise.

I’m writing this down, partly to keep myself busy so I don’t think about coffee. I also thought it would be a good idea to record what became of our world just in case nobody else is alive to do it.

As close as I can figure, it’s been about six months since I felt the first of the bombs hit. My food supply is dwindling, even the really old stuff. If I have to eat another can of cold lima beans I’m going to scream. Who the hell puts lima beans in a bomb shelter? I guess I could leave the shelter, but as long as I have coffee in my possession, I run the risk of getting robbed, maybe even killed for it. Lord only knows what’s happening up on the surface.

I’m down to my last can of coffee, but I’ve been putting off opening it because once it’s gone, then I truly will be out of coffee. After that, I will leave the shelter and see what awaits me up above.

I’ll wait one more day to open it. I can go without coffee for just one more day. I’ve been saving one last can of butane to make it nice and hot. Cold food I can handle, but cold water won’t brew coffee.

See? One day wasn’t so tough. Why not make it two? If I have a cup of coffee every two days, it will last twice as long. If I wait one more day before opening the last can, that’s one more day before I run out for good.

I made it a whole week. Wow. That’s one more week before I run out. As long as I have that can of coffee, I’m the richest man on earth. I might also be the only man on earth, but… mere details.

Two weeks, and that damn can of coffee sits there unopened, mocking me, daring me to open it. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Nice try, coffee can. I’m smarter than you. After all, you’re just a stupid can of coffee. I’m over you. I don’t love you anymore. I could quit you cold turkey if I wanted to.

Aw, fuck it. Since I know I can quit anytime I want, I might as well drink it and enjoy the last coffee on earth.

I’m doing it. This is it. I’m opening the can.

Tomorrow.

I’ve been out of food for weeks now, and starvation is weakening me more each day. The can of coffee still sits unopened, though. I have decided to save it until the very end. If the last thing I do before I leave this world is drink the last cup of coffee in that can, I will die a happy man. I’ll have to do it soon, though. I’m on my last two gallons of bottled water.

Maybe it’s time I left the shelter. There is probably clean water on the surface. Hell, I don’t even care if it’s contaminated, just as long as it will make a decent cuppa Joe. But… what if it’s total chaos up there? I’d be killed for my can of coffee for sure. I guess I could leave it in the shelter. Nobody knows it’s here. But what if I was followed on the way back, or worse, what if someone found this place – and my coffee – while I was away? Without my coffee, I have nothing. No, the only way it will be safe is if I stay and guard it.

When I finish the water I have open, I will open the last jug of water along with the can of coffee and brew a nice steaming cup of Heaven. When the coffee is gone, I will leave the shelter. If the world is destroyed, I’ll use the revolver I took from my neighbor’s hand and exit in likewise fashion.

NO! NO!!!! I went to open the last water jug and found it empty! DRY! All this time I thought it was full but I didn’t actually pick it up and shake it. The jug must have had a leak at the bottom because the water is long gone. No! No! No! I can’t live without water, because without water I can’t make coffee. A world without coffee is not one I want to face.

Goodbye world, whatever’s left of you.

* * *

The steel door groaned open. Two faces peered into the hole, closing their inner eyelids to shield their eyes from the rising dust.

“What is this?”

“I’m not sure. Looks like some kind of ancient ruins. There’s a cave or something down there. Let’s go down and check it out.”

They scuttled down the shaft into the cavern below.

“Look, there! Bones! What kind of creature is that?”

“I don’t know, but it’s not one of us. Look, only four appendages, and it doesn’t even have a tail! Must be some kind of weird old fossil.”

“What’s that object beside it?”

A webbed, green-scaled hand reached for the metal can.

“Is it some kind of weapon?”

“I don’t think so. Maybe it’s food or something. Look, I can open it.”

Sniff. Sniff.

“What is that?”

“I don’t know, but it smells delicious! Should we taste it?”

“No, it might be poison. Let’s go and ask Mom first.”

 Copyright © 2014 Mandy White

Published in Dysfictional 2

Watch for the sequel to this story – “Vacation” – coming up next!

A Stitch in Time

“…every once in a while, when you feel a little twinge…or maybe a big one, you’ll know I’m thinking of you.”

The sound of the shower ceased. Heather’s head poked out of the bathroom, wrapped in a blue towel.

“You don’t have an outlet in here,” she said.

“Well, it ain’t the Hilton.”

Heather held up a blow dryer. “How am I supposed to use this?”

“There’s a mirror in the hall. The outlet there should reach.”

Josh heard an exasperated sigh, followed a few minutes later by the sound of the blow dryer in the hallway. He rummaged in his sewing box for the right scrap of fabric. He found a suitable piece, snipped it to the correct shape, and then threaded the needle with matching thread. He sat calmly, stitching the pieces together.

The blow dryer stopped. Heather returned to the bathroom and Josh heard the clatter of makeup items being dumped on the countertop.

“I appreciate you letting me stay here,” she called through the open door. “I didn’t want to bother with a hotel for just one night.”

Not like you couldn’t afford it, Josh thought.

“Not a problem.” He snipped the thread and started a new seam on the other side.

“I’m going to stop by the hospital on my way to the airport. I need to see her one more time before I go…you know, just in case.”

Josh said nothing.

“I really wish you’d go with me.”

Not a hope in hell, he thought.

“Josh?” Heather poked her head out of the bathroom.

“What?”

“Did you hear me?”

“I heard you. And the answer is no.”

“But Josh! She’s our sister!”

“YOUR sister. Not mine.”

“She’s sick, Josh. Really sick, and they don’t know what’s wrong with her.”

“Don’t care.”

“How can you say that? How can you not care?”

“You have no idea how easy it is.”

Heather emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed and made up. She stood in front of Josh. “How can you be so cold? She is your sister, Josh! She is family.”

“Ex-sister, and she is no family of mine.” Josh stitched furiously, pulling the thread too tight and causing the fabric to pucker. He loosened the thread before continuing.

“But she needs us. She has no one else.”

“Boo-fucking-hoo. I told you I don’t care.”

Heather thrust her cell phone in front of his face. “Please, just look at this. I made a video so you can see I’m not exaggerating.”

Josh finished the seam and knotted the thread before pausing to watch the video. He supposed it would be disturbing to watch…for someone else. The woman in the video screamed and thrashed on the hospital bed.

“What’s with the restraints?”

“Apparently she tried to claw her own eyes out. According to the doctors, she came in that way. Blind and screaming about pain in her eyes.”

“Holy shit!” He let out a chuckle. “She really is fucked up.”

“You think this is funny?”

“It kind of is. Not ha-ha funny. More like poetic justice.”

“You know what I think? I think it’s guilt. She regrets what she did to us, especially to you, and can’t express it, so it’s made her sick.”

“I agree with you there. She brought this on herself.” Josh said.

“Why don’t you go and see her?”

“Now that’s funny!”

“Maybe your forgiveness is all she needs. Couldn’t you find it in your heart to try?”

“I’ll send thoughts and prayers.” His voice dripped sarcasm.

“Don’t you think she’s suffered enough?”

“Oh, no. Not even close.” He snipped the thread and reached for a spool of red to match the next piece of fabric.

“What the fuck are you even doing? Are you sewing?”

“It would appear that way.”

“What are you sewing? Are those…doll clothes?”

“Mama Antoine has been teaching me.”

“Who?”

“Mrs. Antoine is kind of like a mother to the whole block. She makes dolls. I help her out with chores and she’s been teaching me to make stuff. I’ve learned a lot from her. It’s very relaxing.”

“I don’t even know what to say. I don’t know you.”

“And that’s always been the problem, Heather!” Josh set aside his sewing project to give her his full attention. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’ve been through. You don’t know much of anything except for your own life. Where the fuck were you when I was thrown out of my home? The house MY father wanted to leave to ME, his only son. You knew what Dad wanted, but you didn’t stick up for me. You didn’t stand with me when I wanted to challenge the will. You knew Kristen was mentally incompetent, but you just stuck your fucking head in the sand! Where were you when she was out of control, and I needed your help?”

“I didn’t know how badly out of control she was, Josh. I wish things had gone differently.”

“A stitch in time.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“It’s an old saying: ‘A stitch in time saves nine.’ It’s about taking preventative measures. If you act when you first see a problem you can prevent something worse from happening.”

“I couldn’t possibly have known how bad it would get.”

“You didn’t WANT to know. I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen. In fact, you went to great lengths to make sure nobody could tell you anything. Running around the Australian outback with your husband, hiking some Bibbity-Boobity Trail. Who in their right mind goes for a walk for three fucking months?”

“The Bibbulmun Track is a huge commitment. We trained for months to prepare for that hike.”

“Your timing was impeccable. You found the perfect place to hide where nobody could reach you. A convenient excuse to not get involved. Let poor dumb Josh twist in the wind while Miss Psycho destroys everything his father worked a lifetime for.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“It’s always like that. You’re always training for some kind of marathon. You use fitness as an excuse to hide from anything you don’t want to face. You ignored what was happening, what she was doing to me. It wasn’t until she attacked you that you stepped up and did anything. But by then it was too late.”

“There are things more important than money, Josh.”

“Says the wife of a millionaire. You didn’t get pissed off until she wanted money from you. Yeah, there are things more important than money. Dad wanted me to have his fishing gear and tools. Those are the best memories I have of him, and it meant more to me than money. I would’ve gladly paid for them, but I wasn’t even allowed to do that. Instead, she has an estate sale behind my back and sells my memories to strangers for a few lousy bucks.”

“It was wrong of her to do that, I agree. But can’t we let by-gones be by-gones?”

“Maybe you can, but you have a lot less to forgive than I do. You didn’t have your life torn apart. You weren’t the target of personal attacks, of false accusations. You weren’t driven from your home into a shitty apartment without so much as a memento.”

“Isn’t that a bit dramatic?”

“How is the truth dramatic? Dad was my best friend. We did everything together. When he got sick, I took care of him. She never called or visited. Not until he was on his deathbed. Then suddenly she showed up, looking all weepy. And everybody bought her bullshit act.”

“So I can’t talk you into coming with me to the hospital, then? I have to leave if I’m going to make my flight.”

“I think my answer is pretty clear.”

Heather stomped to the spare room to collect her things, then with the slam of a door she was gone.

Josh didn’t have to explain himself. He had plenty of reasons not to care what happened to Kristen. He didn’t believe in Heaven and Hell, but if there was an afterlife, he hoped his father waited for her on the other side to make her answer for what she’d done.

* * *

The three siblings shared a mother, but the girls had a different father than Josh. When their mother was diagnosed with cancer, Josh was only twelve. Kristen was eighteen and Heather, five years her senior, was already married to a famous athlete and living in Sydney.

The day after their mother’s funeral, Kristen moved out, stating that she could not live another day in that house with HIM. She despised her stepfather, and resented Josh’s close relationship with his dad.

With both sisters gone, it was just Josh and his dad. He spent his teenage years fishing and learning to fix cars. His father was his hero, his mentor, and his best friend. Josh was well into his thirties and still living with his father when the old man’s health began to fail. With Kristen estranged and Heather in Australia, it was up to Josh to take care of his dad, which he did lovingly. His father promised to leave Josh everything: his house, his tools, his fishing gear – the things that had shaped his childhood and held beloved memories of their life together.

When the time came, Heather made the trip from Australia to say goodbye to her stepfather.

And then came the reading of the will. Josh assumed it would be a will created by his father leaving everything to him as promised; him being the only biological child. Then came the surprise: Josh’s father had never made a will. But his mother had, years earlier, when she was dying. Her husband, grief-stricken, had signed without question. After her death, that will became his and he had never bothered to update it. Their mother’s will named Kristen as executor, or “executioner”, as Josh came to call her, and ordered all assets to be sold and split equally between the three children.

At his father’s funeral, Josh faded into the background and Kristen took center stage. She played the role of bereft daughter to perfection, sobbing and hugging, soaking up sympathy like a toxic sponge. The moment the door closed behind the last guest, the tears dried and a ruthless tyrant stepped forth.

Growing up, Kristen had been the embodiment of middle child syndrome: acting out to get attention, and then telling lies to get out of trouble. She was jealous of her siblings: of Heather, for having more privileges due to being older, and of Josh, for being the “spoiled baby”. Josh was the only one of the three who had a relationship with his biological father, and Kristen did little to hide her resentment.

Being appointed as executor finally gave Kristen a chance to stick it to her brother and sister. Mentally unstable, drunk with power, and bent on revenge: it was the recipe for a perfect storm. A shitstorm, that was.

She arrived at Josh’s home unannounced, suitcases and screaming children in tow. She moved into “her” house and declared everything in it to be property of the estate, even Josh’s personal belongings. She barked orders at Josh like he was a servant, then screamed and raged when he refused to obey.

Kristen made it her mission to make Josh’s life as miserable as possible. She convinced the rest of the family Josh had been stealing from his father. She had her lawyer waste countless hours poring over years worth of old bank statements. When no evidence of fraud was found, she accused him of stealing “estate assets”, which were, in fact, his own belongings.

Josh had no choice but to leave. He walked away from his father’s legacy and the only home he had known for 34 years, and moved into a cheap apartment. Yet again, Kristen spun it to make Josh look like the villain and she the victim. He had walked away and left her, a poor single mother, to care for that large house and property all alone. Nobody in the family cared to hear Josh’s side of it.

Heather watched events unfold from a distance, through the rose-colored lens of Kristen’s lies. Josh begged and pleaded with her to listen to the truth before it was too late, but his pleas went unheeded.

By the time Heather suspected a problem, four years had passed and she was thousands of dollars out of pocket – money she had sent Kristen for “estate expenses”. When Heather refused to send any more money and demanded to know when she would be repaid, Kristen showed her true colors. She vowed to drain the estate until not a penny was left. Heather hired a lawyer and brought Kristen’s reign of terror to an end, but by that time Kristen had already wasted most of the money. After legal fees, only a few dollars remained.

Josh didn’t care about the money. Everything that had mattered to him was gone. All he had left of his father was a collection of bittersweet memories.

But maybe Heather was right. Maybe he should pay the bitch a visit.

* * *

Josh stood in the doorway for a moment, observing.

Kristen moaned in pain and thrashed on the bed. Her face was covered with angry red scratches.

Josh entered the room. The door clicked shut behind him. Kristen turned toward the sound, her sightless eyes glassy from pain medication.

“Who’s there?”

“Hello, sister dear.”

“You!” The glaze in her eyes turned to clarity.

“Yeah. Me.”

“You did this to me.”

“Actually, you did it to yourself.”

“Fuck you!” she spat.

“Poor little Kristen. Always the victim. And look at you now. Hope it was worth it.”

Kristen responded by literally spitting at him.

“Gross. You always were a slob. You invaded my home and stole my father’s things, and didn’t even have the decency to clean up after yourself. I had to clean your nasty hairball out of the shower drain. Luckily, I had a use for it.”

“I never asked you to come here. Get the fuck out!” Her fingers groped for the nurse’s call button. Josh yanked it out of her reach.

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving. Just had to see you one last time.”

“Get out! Help!”

“I’m going to need you to shut up now, Kristen.”

“Help! He – ” Kristen’s scream cut off abruptly.

“That’s better. I’m sick of hearing your voice. All it does is tell lies.”

Kristen kicked her legs and fought against the restraints. When she tried to scream, no sound came out. She gasped and panted, but remained mute.

“It’s a shame you have to be strapped down like that. I think I can help.”

Josh held an object in his hand. A doll, hand-sewn from scraps of cloth. A clump of human hair harvested from the shower drain adorned its head, embedded in a bit of wax. Pins protruded from its eyes and various other parts of its body. 

“You were always such a pain in the neck,” he said. He twisted the pin he had just inserted into the doll’s throat and shoved it deeper. “There. Now I’ve returned the favor. Now you won’t need those restraints anymore.”

Kristen’s struggles ceased and she lay limp on the bed.

“How’s it feel to be powerless? At someone else’s mercy?”

Her unseeing eyes smoldered with the blackest of hatred. Tears trickled down her cheeks.

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about. You may be paralyzed, but at least you aren’t numb. You can still feel everything. Everything. ”

He examined the doll thoughtfully. “I wonder what we should do next. We’re going to run out of room eventually. When that happens, a nice jab to the brain should finish you off.

“I’ll leave you alone…for now. But every once in a while, when you feel a little twinge…or maybe a big one, you’ll know I’m thinking of you.”

* * *

Josh stitched the final seam together and snipped the thread. He admired his handiwork. Mama Antoine was right. He was getting better the more he practiced. All it needed was a final touch.

He ran his hand over the carpet below the hallway mirror and found what he was looking for. He then proceeded to the bathroom, where the blue towel still hung on the shower curtain rod. There, he found three more long auburn hairs. Cleaning the shower drain produced several more.

He lit the candle and melted the wax while speaking an incantation in an ancient language.

Josh inserted a pin into one of the doll’s knees, then the other. He repeated the process with six more pins in the legs of the doll.

Heather didn’t deserve what Kristen had gotten. She wasn’t a bad person. Self-absorbed perhaps, but not hateful like her sister. With a few preventative measures, Heather could improve. She could learn to face her problems instead of running off to the wilderness. No more hikes. At least not for now.

Copyright © 2018 Mandy White

Published in Dysfictional 3

Skin Deep

Photo by  Free Creative Stuff  from  Pexels

I don’t always write romance, but when I do, it’s dysfunctional and someone dies. Published in Dysfictional 2.

~ SKIN DEEP ~

She sits at an antique dressing table in front of a large, ornately framed mirror. The bridal veil perched atop her perfectly coiffed head cascades past her waist, almost reaching the floor. She checks her makeup, and then checks it again. She adjusts the veil, careful not to disturb her hair.

As she continues to primp and preen, a voice narrates in the background, sounding very much like Rod Serling. Fitting, she thinks, noticing for the first time that she and her surroundings are in black and white, just like the old Twilight Zone episodes.

“The wedding day,” the narrator says. “The day every woman dreams of. The very best day of her life. Doesn’t she make a beautiful bride?”

Silently she agrees with the disembodied voice.

I am beautiful, aren’t I?

The voice continues, “It’s the one day when she will be the star; all eyes will be upon her – the bride.”

There’s a pause, as eerie music rises in the background.

“But there’s one thing she doesn’t know about. One thing nobody has told her about. Nobody has warned her about…”

Her image in the mirror zooms in like a camera lens until only her neck and shoulders are visible. A shadow darkens her skin, beginning at her collarbone and creeping over her shoulder, blackening her skin to the color of charcoal. She brushes her fingertips over the darkness and it spreads to her hand as it continues to climb up her neck and over her face.

“The black shadow…” the voice finishes.

* * *

Jane fumbled at the lamp until she found the switch. Soft light flooded the room, which was now in color, as was she. She held her hand in front of her face for confirmation, even though she knew it was only a dream. No blackened skin. No Rod Serling narrating in the background.

As disturbing as the dream was, Jane didn’t believe in prophetic visions, omens or any of that nonsense. She was, for all intents and purposes, an atheist, although she didn’t proclaim herself as such. She didn’t believe in ‘ists’ or ‘isms’. If anything, she was an ‘anti-ismist’.

She sighed and reached for the bottle of Nytol on the nightstand. That dream was probably the only chance she’d ever get to see herself in a wedding dress, so she might as well enjoy it, eerie as it was. She had given up on the white picket fence dream long ago. She was short, stocky and plain looking. Girls like her didn’t get swept off their feet by fairytale princes; they had to be happy with what life gave them. Her high school nickname, ‘Plain Jane’, suited her well.

* * *

One year later, Jane found herself wearing a sensible yet elegant wedding gown, selected by her fiancée’s mother. She sat at an antique dressing table in a back room of the church where she was to be married. The room was a parlor reserved for private conversations with the minister. It also served as a waiting room for brides who were about to walk down the aisle. She had never imagined herself having a church wedding but it was important to Victor. Besides, who was she to argue? She was finally getting married – what else mattered?

She checked the clock. She had another thirty minutes before she was to walk down the aisle. She had gotten ready early but on this day she really had no place else to be.

Jane primped in front of the ornate mirror, the ominous Twilight Zone dream all but forgotten. She wished she wasn’t so ordinary looking. Why couldn’t she be beautiful like the women pictured in the bridal magazines, even if just for one day? Her husband-to-be had accepted her the way she was – and for that she was grateful – but she still wished she could surprise him at the altar by arriving transformed into one of those breathtaking brides who modeled the dresses in the bridal magazines.

She reached into her purse and pulled out a small plastic bag containing the items she had purchased at the drug store earlier. She spread the objects on the tabletop and examined them. A tube of lipstick, almost the same color as her lips but just pink enough to brighten them up. Some eye shadow, in natural tones with a frosty pink highlighter. One eyeliner pencil, charcoal gray and matching the mascara. The woman at the cosmetics counter had helped her choose the colors and shown her how to apply the foreign substances.

Here goes, she thought.

Slowly and meticulously she outlined her eyes and then brushed the eye shadow over her lids the way she had been shown. The mascara was the trickiest – every time she touched the brush to her eyelashes she blinked involuntarily, getting the stuff on her skin where it wasn’t supposed to be. Finally she mastered it and sat back to admire the result. Her eyes looked sultry and mysterious with the long dark lashes. This was a look she could get used to.

The lipstick was the finishing touch. It was perfect.

She looked more beautiful than she ever had!

Victor would be so surprised!

A knock on the door jolted her out of her fantasy.

“Are you ready? It’s time,” a woman’s cold voice said. Marlene was Victor’s sister and also her maid of honor. Jane had wanted her best friend from high school to stand beside her on her wedding day but Victor forbade it. His family disapproved of Michelle Dhaliwal, partly because her family was from India, but also because she was a fashion model. (A whore, according to Victor) Michelle was tall, leggy and busty and Jane had always admired her exotic beauty. Victor believed she was a bad influence on Jane and insisted she sever ties with her best friend. Michelle wasn’t even allowed to attend the wedding as a guest. Jane was crushed, but Victor had the final word. Only members of the Baptist church would be present at their wedding. Suffice to say, the entire wedding party consisted of Victor’s family members. The ‘bride’s side’ of the chapel would have been empty had it not been used as overflow seating for Victor’s family and members of their church. Jane’s parents were deceased, so Victor’s father had volunteered to give her away.

It didn’t matter; a wedding was a wedding and this was the only one she would get.

Jane pulled her veil over her face and waited for the music to start, then opened the door to her future.

* * *

The mascara ran down her face in ugly black streaks, carried by the tears that marked her wedding night. Locked in the bathroom of their honeymoon suite at the Marriott, Jane sobbed as she scrubbed and scrubbed, trying to remove all traces of the “whore paint”, as Victor called it.

Victor had gotten the surprise of his life when he lifted the veil to gaze upon his beautiful bride. He was not pleasantly surprised. In fact, he was livid. He managed to maintain his usual cool composure for the duration of the ceremony. He recited his vows monotone, repeating what the minister told him to, his voice devoid of emotion. When it came time to kiss the bride, his lips barely brushed hers before turning his face aside in disgust. He immediately wiped his mouth as if he had just tasted something revolting.

Jane struggled not to cry in front of everyone but was unable to stop the tears from flowing. Her makeup ran down her face in ugly black streaks, dripping down and staining the front of her dress. This was supposed to be HER day! How dare he ruin it like this?

Victor remained calm until they were behind closed doors inside their hotel suite. Then he exploded.

“How DARE you embarrass me like that? What were you thinking? Get that whore paint off your face NOW!”

Jane burst into tears.

“I thought… I just wanted to look… you know, pretty.”

“By defacing the temple of the Lord? Why don’t you just spray paint some graffiti on the wall of the church? You don’t look pretty! You look like a WHORE! You made a laughing stock out of me! I told them I was marrying a virgin! And you show up looking like a… a…” he sputtered, running out of words in his fury.

“But I am… a… I’ve never… “ Jane whimpered, humiliated.

He unbuttoned his trousers. “You’d better be. You’d better hope to God you are, or there will be Hell to pay!” He shoved her toward the bathroom. “Cleanse yourself, whore! I can’t stand the sight of you!”

Jane’s introduction to sex was a miserable experience. It was the exact opposite of the way women’s magazines and romance novels described it. Victor was rough and uncaring, forcing himself into her without regard for her comfort. She bit her lips to keep from crying out but could do nothing to stem the flow of tears as he lay on top of her, grunting and thrusting. Fortunately, it was over in about five minutes.

Her wedding night set the tone for the rest of her married life: Pain, followed by degradation, followed by humiliation, followed by more pain. Sometimes the abuse was verbal, other times it was punctuated by a slap or a punch when he felt he wasn’t getting his point across. Victor wielded his fists in the name of the Lord, with a fury he mistook for righteousness.

Jane endured her loveless marriage year after year, accepting her husband’s mistreatment with a quiet resignation. It didn’t occur to her that she might have a choice. She had taken a vow and signed her life away. After all, marriage to a strong man was a woman’s purpose in life, wasn’t it? After six years of marriage they remained childless, which added to Victor’s disappointment in the wife he had chosen. He had married her for the purpose of producing an heir to carry on his family name and she had proven to be a failure in every sense of the word. His religion forbade divorce, so he was stuck with her and she knew it. He took the words, ‘until death’ very seriously.

 The marriage would end only with one of their deaths.

* * *

She hadn’t heard from her best friend in a very long time when a package arrived, addressed to Jane. She squealed with delight when she saw the return address. It was from Michelle. She rushed downstairs to her sewing room to open the parcel in secret. Jane’s sewing room was her only haven; Victor never went in there. It was the only truly private space she had in the house.

She gasped when she saw the item Michelle had sent her. She had never seen anything so elegant. It was a rectangular jewelry box, about twelve inches long and six inches wide. It looked old; an antique, possibly from India. It looked like it was made of ivory. She ran her fingers over the delicate carvings on the surface of the box. The intricate designs fascinated her. When she held the box at different angles, the designs seemed to change to something new each time. Some of the figures looked like people, and others looked like exotic creatures she had never seen before. The box sat on four finely carved feet that looked either avian or reptilian, complete with toes and talons.

What she found inside the box shocked her even more.

Jewelry.

Inside the box were several pieces of Michelle’s jewelry – expensive looking gold rings with gemstones in every color; dangly diamond earrings and a choker to match.

There was also a letter, from Michelle.

Hey Janey,

I’m sorry I couldn’t be at your wedding, but nobody can stop me from giving you a gift, just between us girls. This box has been in my family for generations. It was given to me by my mother, and her mother before her. My grandmother called it “The Box of Dreams”. She told me that it has the power to make dreams come true. Whatever that means. I used it to keep jewelry and coins in it. I thought you might be able to find a better use for it. You deserve to have some beauty in your life. It is supposed to be passed from mother to daughter, but I will never have children. Maybe you’ll have better luck. Never forget how beautiful you are. Never let anyone tell you different.

Miss you bunches!

Love, Michelle.

xoxo

Jane’s eyes stung with tears when she read the note. Michelle had been diagnosed with cervical cancer at age nineteen. A hysterectomy was the only option. She had always laughed off the fact that she would never have children but Jane knew how deeply her friend was hurt. Adoption was not an option Michelle would consider, in case the cancer returned.

Michelle had chosen to give a family heirloom to her, even after being denied the opportunity to be her best friend’s maid of honor. She didn’t deserve such a good friend.

The box was exquisite; exotic. Decidedly un-Christian.

Victor would not approve.

Fuck Victor!

She gasped. The vulgarity of her thought shocked her but delighted her at the same time. Yes. Fuck him and his stupid rules. He didn’t have to know. He never had to see it. She hid the box in a drawer filled with cloth scraps and spools of thread, where she knew Victor would never have any interest in looking.

She called Michelle to thank her for the beautiful gift but there was no answer. She tried again the next day. Still no answer. After a week with no luck contacting her friend, Jane assumed Michelle must have been out of town. She would try again next week.

Three weeks had passed with no answer at Michelle’s number when the letter arrived. It was from Michelle’s mother. Jane crumpled to the floor in tears when she read the words Mrs. Dhaliwal had written.

The cancer had returned with a vengeance. Michelle had been given three months to live, six with treatment. Rather than suffer the brutality of radiation and chemotherapy, only to die in a hospital, she had taken her own life with an overdose of sleeping pills. She had left a suicide note explaining her motives, along with instructions that Jane be sent the enclosed envelope. It was another letter:

Hey, Janey,

Please don’t hate me. You know how I am. I do things on my own terms. If I have to die, I don’t want it to be emaciated and bald, in pain and puking my guts out. You know the saying – die young and leave a beautiful corpse. I’ve always known my life could come to this, and trust me, I’m ok with it. I’m sorry I didn’t call you to say goodbye. Please try to understand and forgive me. I will always be with you. As long as you have the Box of Dreams we will always be connected.

Remember, beauty is more than skin deep, my friend and you are the most beautiful person I know.

Love you always,

Michelle

xoxo

* * *

Jane spent her days in a robotic routine of housework, gardening and frugal shopping excursions. She filled her empty hours window shopping and browsing through stores without buying anything because she wasn’t permitted to have anything frivolous. She could purchase groceries and household items and basic personal needs but nothing else. If she did not meticulously budget the allowance Victor gave her, there would be trouble.

Victor had been spending more time away from the house. His work hours seemed to stretch longer and longer. He offered no explanation and Jane didn’t ask for one. She didn’t care. The less she saw of him the better.

Jane spent more and more time in her sewing room when he was away. Sometimes she just sat and gazed at her secret box, remembering Michelle. She ran her fingers over the carved surface, trying to decipher the exotic looking designs. Sometimes she would find that hours had passed and all she had done was gaze at the box. Except for what Michelle had sent her, she owned no jewelry except for the simple wedding set which she never removed. She couldn’t wear Michelle’s jewelry. It had to remain in the box where Victor could never see it lest he take it away.

Sometimes she just held the box and let her imagination wander. She dreamed of the days before Victor, back when she was free and her life could have meant something. If only she could do it all over again. She would stay single. She would be a strong, independent woman who took shit from no man. She would wear makeup and pretty clothes and nobody would dare call her a whore.

One day, she decided to try on the jewelry, just for fun. Even if she could never leave her sewing room wearing it, she could at least see how it looked. One by one she slipped the rings on her fingers. There were four rings in total, and they looked absolutely stunning. Her wedding rings looked cheap and dull next to them. She clipped the choker around her neck and held her hair up, pretending it was styled into a fancy updo. Her ears had been pierced once, but she hadn’t worn earrings since before she met Victor. She didn’t even know if she had holes in her lobes anymore. A quick push, a twinge of pain and the earrings were through.

Gorgeous, dahling!

Jane smiled at her reflection in the mirror, blowing herself a kiss.

Jane reminisced back to her wedding day. If only she could have worn something this exquisite on her special day. If only that day had been special. She had looked so pretty – up until the moment Victor lifted the veil and made her cry. If only she could look that way every day of her life.

The box seemed to get heavier in her lap.

She shook it.

Something rattled inside.

It had been empty a moment ago. She opened the lid.

Inside were the cosmetic products she had purchased for her wedding, six years ago. She removed the objects from the box. How had they gotten there? She had thrown them in the garbage the same day, after Victor had raged at her and called it whore paint.

Did she dare? It would be hours before Victor returned home. She would have plenty of time to remove all traces of the makeup before he saw. She just wanted to see again… she just wanted to be pretty one more time.

This time, applying the makeup was easier. The eye makeup glided onto her skin, perfectly shaded, with just the right amount of light and dark everywhere. The mascara melded to her lashes with a quick stroke of the brush, without clumping or smearing onto her skin. The lipstick seemed to soak right into her lips, giving them a soft pink blush that looked completely natural.

Jane admired her face in the mirror.

Beautiful!

She laid back on the sofa in her sewing room, pretending she was an elegant model, posing for a photographer. She fell asleep clutching the box.

She woke to the sound of Victor coming in the door.

Shit!

Dinner was not ready and he would be livid.

Jane hurriedly removed the jewelry and stashed the box back in the drawer. She rushed upstairs before he could summon her, forgetting about the makeup on her face.

Victor seemed distracted and he smelled of alcohol. He mumbled something about wanting a sandwich and stumbled off into the living room, where he promptly fell asleep in front of the television.

Jane was shocked. What had happened to the raging, God-fearing man who took every opportunity to debase and degrade her?

She prepared a sandwich for him – roast beef piled high on light rye bread slathered with Dijon and placed it on the table beside his chair. Then she went to take a shower before bed. When she saw her reflection in the mirror, panic gripped her insides. She had forgotten the makeup! How could he not have seen it?

She scrubbed her face thoroughly in the shower, to be sure no trace of the makeup remained. When the steam cleared from the mirror afterward, she saw to her horror that it was still there! Her face was still flawlessly made up, as if she had just stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. She tried rubbing lotion on her face, then more soap and water, but nothing removed the makeup. It seemed to be permanently tattooed into her skin.

Victor was going to have a fit!

Fuck Victor!

It was the same voice she had heard in her head the day she had gotten the box. She assumed it was her inner voice of rebellion; it was so unlike her own voice and she never used profanity.

Jane curled up in bed and slept soundly for the first time in years.

* * *

When she woke, Victor was gone, presumably to work. He hadn’t bothered to wake her to make him breakfast.

She caught sight of her face in the mirror as she was getting dressed. The makeup was still on her face. It still looked freshly applied; not a smudge, not a fade. Her lips were glossy and pink with lipstick. Her normally pale skin had a healthy glow, as if she had been spending more time outdoors than usual. Her hair was perfect as well – brushed and styled as if by a professional without a hair out of place.

How could this be?

Only soap opera stars woke up looking perfect. It never happened to real women.

Even her figure looked better – slimmer, trimmer and bustier.

And somehow taller.

How?

* * *

Back in her sewing room, Jane took the box from the drawer. She opened the lid. The jewelry was still there but the makeup was gone. She had put all of the makeup back into the box after applying it, but now it was gone. She felt less surprised to see it gone than she had been when it appeared.

Reflecting on the events of the previous day, she returned to the moments just before the makeup had appeared.

What had she been thinking about? That was easy – she had been remembering how pretty she had looked on her wedding day and wishing she could look that way forever.

And then the makeup had appeared in the box.

Like magic.

Would it work again?

What should she wish for?

A thought immediately came to mind and she pushed it away.

No!

She didn’t want to hurt Victor. She just wanted him to leave her alone.

I must keep this wish something small; something personal, and keep Victor out of it.

First, she put on all of the jewelry, just like she had the day before. Then she wished. Something small, something personal. Something that would go with her new look.

The box didn’t seem to increase in weight, but when she shook it, it felt… fuller.

She opened the lid, then gasped.

She pulled the items out of the box, handling them with care even though she knew they weren’t as delicate as they looked. She knew even before she put them on that they would be a perfect fit.

She stood in front of the full-length mirror she used for fitting the clothing she sewed for herself. Victor did not let her spend money on clothing: she’d always made her own. Never, ever, would he have allowed her to have something as sexy and exotic as the lacy bra and panties she now wore. Black lace accented with fuchsia satin, the set rivalled anything she had seen in a Victoria’s Secret catalogue. The French-cut panties barely covered her rear, allowing the cheeks to peek out saucily on each side. The push-up bra gave her cleavage she never even realized she had. She looked ravishing.

Just like a model.

She slipped her plain housedress over the lingerie and put the box back in the drawer, then proceeded to do her daily household chores. The feel of the lace between her legs awakened new sensations in her body. She managed to ignore it until the washing machine entered the spin cycle. Then she pressed her hips against the machine’s steel front and allowed the vibration to bring wave after wave of ecstasy through her body.

* * *

Victor arrived late again, and drunk again. He smelled of women’s perfume but Jane didn’t care. He didn’t seem to notice anything different about her, even though her makeup had seemed to darken during the course of the day. Her eyes were smoky and smoldering, with heavy eyeliner and long black lashes that almost looked false. Her lipstick had deepened from the previous day’s soft pink to a bold fuchsia to match her new underwear.

Once again, she went to bed alone and woke to an empty house.

I could get used to this. She smiled to herself at the thought.

* * *

Back in the sewing room, Jane opened the box again after making her wish.

Once again, she stood before the mirror admiring her reflection, wearing newest acquisition: black stockings, a garter belt and a pair of shoes. The shoes were stunning – black patent leather pumps with delicate rhinestone anklets and rows of rhinestones running up the back of the six-inch heels. She had seen shoes similar to these in a catalogue once, by a designer called Christian Louboutin.

She had never worn anything so sexy before and it made her feel giddy. The tall heels shaped her legs and made her ass look great. Teetering at such a dizzying height she felt like a model on a runway, or a dancer on a stage.

She giggled, swaying and gyrating in front of the mirror. Now all I need is a pole to swing around!

Her mood sobered at the thought. Be careful what you wish for.

She wondered what would happen if she was dressed that way when Victor came home. He hadn’t noticed the hair and makeup. Surely he would notice the lingerie and heels.

He would be furious. He would probably beat her and make her burn the sexy clothing. No, it would be best to hide it from him so he couldn’t spoil things.

She slipped her plain housedress over her secret and went about her daily chores.

* * *

Victor behaved as if he didn’t even see Jane. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, since ignoring her meant he wasn’t abusing her, but for some reason it angered Jane. She had wanted him to leave her alone but now that she had embraced her sexuality she wanted to see his reaction. She no longer wanted to please him and she no longer cared if she made him angry. In fact, she welcomed his anger because for the first time she felt like she could stand up to him. He moved around the house as though he were the only person present. Except for once stepping aside when she blocked his path, she would have sworn he was completely unaware of her existence. She went to bed alone and woke to an empty house. He must have fallen asleep in his chair or on the couch.

* * *

Jane sat in her sewing room, busy at work, dressed in her jewelry, lingerie and heels. A basket of laundry sat on the floor beside her chair. She picked up an item from the basket and went to work with her dressmaker scissors.

Snip! Snip!

The plain housedress fell to the floor in a pile of small fabric scraps.

She picked up the next plain, drab garment and shredded it in a likewise fashion.

No more.

She was a strong, sexy, independent woman and from that moment forward, no man would dictate what was appropriate attire for her. No longer would she be prevented from wearing pretty things; from looking like a woman.

Snip! Snip!

When her entire wardrobe was shredded, Jane picked up her ivory box.

She smiled when she felt the weight of the box increase.

She opened the lid.

Perfect!

She slipped into the dress and rushed to the mirror.

The transformation was complete, and it was breathtaking.

The slinky black gown dipped low in the front and even lower in the back, slipping open up the right side with a slit that ran all the way to her hip. Jane felt like she should have had a red carpet beneath her feet.

If Victor didn’t notice this, then surely he was blind.

* * *

She met him at the door, holding a glass of red wine in her hand. Jane was not allowed to drink alcohol; ordinarily, that would have been enough to earn her a slap in the face. She didn’t care. She wanted him to notice. Most of all, she wanted a reaction from him.

I dare him to touch me. I dare him to so much as raise his voice to me. He will be sorry.

She blocked his path when he opened the door.

“Hello darling,” she crooned, in her sexiest voice. Maybe all Victor needed was permission to be a bad boy. Maybe there was slim hope for their relationship after all.

He seemed to see her for the first time in weeks, his eyes traveling from her face to her feet and then back up again.

“What is this?” he asked, clearly annoyed.

“What does it look like?” she asked, running her tongue over her glossy fuchsia lips.

“It looks like somebody let a strumpet into my house.”

“Fuck you, Victor.”

His face flushed. “What? What did you say?”

Jane was no longer in control. Someone else was in charge of her body, and the words flowed from her lips like venom.

“Fuck you! You heard me, you lying, cheating hypocrite! You dare to call me a whore when you’re out fucking whores every night! I’m not taking your shit anymore! I’m finished with you!”

Victor’s hand swung back. “Fie on you, Jezebel! In the name of the Fa–”

Jane’s hand snapped up, catching his arm in midair.

“NO! No more. This stops here and now. You will never treat me like dirt again.”

“I treat you how you ask to be treated. You think you’re special, you ungrateful she-bitch? You’re nothing! You were nothing before you met me. I was merciful enough to marry you and take care of you, and what do I get in return? I’m stuck with a used-up old whore! Dried-up and barren like an old dead stick! You’re God’s punishment to me for saying, ‘I do’!”

“We’re through, Victor. I want a divorce.”

“You will rot in Hell before I break my sacred vows.”

“THOU SHALT NOT COMMIT ADULTERY!” she screamed in his face. “You’ve already broken more than just a meaningless marriage vow. We are finished!”

Victor pushed her against the wall, his booze-soaked breath wafting into her face.

“You are mine, bought and paid for. You will obey until death do us part.”

Jane shoved him out of her path, stalking away with the steely composure of a soap opera vixen. Before leaving the room, she turned to face him one last time and said,

“I wish I’d never met you. I wish you had never been born.”

* * *

Jane woke to an empty bed and an empty house the next morning.

Good riddance. Too bad it wasn’t permanent, she thought.

She strolled to the bathroom to shower, even though she still looked movie-star fresh. She examined her nude reflection, noting the improvements that had inexplicably taken place. Her pale, plump figure had transformed into a taut, lean, tan body. Her breasts were at least two cup sizes larger. Her mousy hair was darker, glossier.

Like Michelle’s.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

* * *

Victor didn’t come home that night. Jane wasn’t concerned; after all, they’d had the fight to end all fights the night before, so he probably needed some time to cool off. She slid between the sheets completely nude for the first time in her life and slept the sleep of the contented.

The next day, Jane baked cookies, cleaned the house and worked on some sewing projects – all while wearing nothing but her high-heeled shoes. She felt comfortable with her nudity and relished the delicious decadence of it. She didn’t get dressed when the time came for Victor to return home. She dared him to see her; dared him to say one disapproving word.

Victor didn’t return that night either.

Or the night after that.

After a week, Jane decided he’d had enough time to cool down. Enough silliness already. She called his office to speak to him.

The receptionist had never heard of him.

She must be someone new. Typical big corporation.

That night, she called his parents’ house. Odds were, he was staying with them if he hadn’t checked into a hotel.

Victor’s mother answered the phone.

“Hello, Mary, it’s Jane. Sorry to bother you, but is Victor there?”

There was a long silence on the other end.

“Excuse me? To WHOM did you want to speak?” Victor’s mother said.

“Victor. Your son. It’s Jane calling.”

“Who?”

“Jane. Your daughter-in-law.” Jane tried to hide the irritation in her voice. “Look, I know he’s angry with me, but I really need to speak with him if he’s there.”

“Is this some sort of joke?” Mary sounded angry.

For good reason, Jane thought. After all, his son is married to a rebellious, barren, Godless whore.

“Victor and I had an argument, and we really need to discuss it, now that he’s had a chance to cool off.”

“Victor? How do you know about Victor?”

“What do you mean?”

“Who are you?”

“I told you, I’m Victor’s wife, Jane.”

“This is not funny, young lady! Why would you do this? Victor could not possibly have a wife.”

“I don’t understand. I must have made some sort of mistake. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. Please, will you tell me about Victor?”

Mary sighed. “I guess it won’t hurt. After all, it’s no secret,” she said.

“It was the will of God for me not to have another child after Marlene. I understand that, but it didn’t make it any easier. I was six months pregnant when I lost my son. I don’t know how you could possibly know about him. We named him after his late grandfather before we laid him to rest. The miscarriage saved my life, because that was when they found the cancer. Cervical cancer. They removed it but it took a hysterectomy to get it all. It was God’s will that I live instead of my son, but even the will of the Lord is difficult to understand at times.”

Copyright © 2013 Mandy White

Published in Dysfictional 2

Be A Lady They Said

Some powerful truths here.

Writings of a Furious Woman

Be a lady they said. Your skirt is too short. Your shirt is too low. Your pants are too tight. Don’t show so much skin. Don’t show your thighs. Don’t show your breasts. Don’t show your midriff. Don’t show your cleavage. Don’t show your underwear. Don’t show your shoulders. Cover up. Leave something to the imagination. Dress modestly. Don’t be a temptress. Men can’t control themselves. Men have needs. You look frumpy. Loosen up. Show some skin. Look sexy. Look hot. Don’t be so provocative. You’re asking for it. Wear black. Wear heels. You’re too dressed up. You’re too dressed down. Don’t wear those sweatpants; you look like you’ve let yourself go.

Be a lady they said. Don’t be too fat. Don’t be too thin. Don’t be too large. Don’t be too small. Eat up. Slim down. Stop eating so much. Don’t eat too fast. Order a salad. Don’t eat…

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The Good Husband

A comedian once said that the ideal time to kill someone is when you’re on a plane that’s about to crash. That was the inspiration for this story…

Harold was a good husband. His mother taught him that a good husband should cater to his wife’s every whim. His father had left when he was two years old, so he didn’t have much basis for comparison. On her deathbed, his mother begged him to find a good woman and hold onto her.

“Promise me, Harry. Don’t chase after some bleach-haired floozy. Find a sensible woman who doesn’t sleep around and put a ring on her finger. Be a good husband. I want you to be taken care of.”

“I promise, Mama.”

True to his word, Harold ignored the flirtations of his lovely secretary, Linda, who was clearly waiting for him to ask her out. His mother would not have approved of Linda. She would have called her frivolous. Linda’s long, manicured nails, perfect makeup and unnaturally crimson hair meant she was a high-maintenance woman who probably spent all of her free time at the beauty salon. Personally, Harold wouldn’t have minded if his wife spent extra effort on her appearance, but he had made a promise to his mother. If nothing else, he was an honorable man who revered his mother above all others.

He met Bernice at a charity fundraiser. He was obligated to attend on behalf of his employer, and she was one of the volunteers. She was a solidly built woman; a little on the heavy side. Her angular face was free from makeup and her dishwater-blonde hair was twisted into a tight bun, without a single stray strand. Linda wore her hair up as well, but she always had a few loose strands wisping over her smooth, rouged cheeks. Mother would have approved of Bernice.

Harold proposed to Bernice after just two months of celibate dating, foregoing intimacy to consummate their marriage the way a proper husband and wife should.

The dream honeymoon he had planned didn’t turn out quite the way Harold hoped. He wanted Hawaii, but settled on Niagara Falls because Bernice felt it was more practical to drive a few hours away than spend all that money to fly over the ocean to a resort filled with starved bikini-clad sluts. Howard acquiesced, intent on pleasing his new bride. His spirits weren’t dampened much; the promise of sexual release made mere details like location unimportant.

The honeymoon proved to be a disappointment. After one obligatory roll in the hay, Bernice refused to let him touch her. Like a good husband, Harold respected her wishes, confident that she would warm up to him when she was ready. She took his credit cards and spent the entire week shopping, leaving Harold waiting patiently in the hotel room.

Weeks passed, then months, still with no intimacy. To compensate for his nonexistent sex life, Harold threw himself into his work, quickly climbing the corporate ladder and bringing home increasingly larger paychecks, like a good husband should. Bernice sat on the couch eating snacks, drinking gin and watching the Home Shopping Network, spending the money as quickly as he could earn it.

Harold did his best to please Bernice, but she was never happy. She rarely spoke to him without yelling. Not much of a cook, she insisted on being taken out to eat frequently, which he dreaded because she took every opportunity to humiliate him in public.

Harold was miserable, but never allowed his feelings to show. He endured Bernice’s abuse meekly, replying only when asked to.

“Yes, Dear. You’re right, Dear. Whatever you want, Dear,” became his mantra. He recited the words automatically, often without even hearing what she had said. He knew his mother would have been proud of him for being such a good husband.

He wanted out, but there were only two ways he knew of to get out of his miserable marriage: divorce or suicide. Neither seemed like a viable option. Divorce meant lawyer’s fees, a hefty settlement and alimony. If he committed suicide, Bernice would get to keep all of his money and possessions. It was win-win for Bernice, with Harold ending up the loser in both cases.

As the years passed, Harold’s desperation grew, as did Bernice’s waistline. His eyes had been wandering for some time; after all, he was a man, and only human. His secretary Linda grew lovelier the more he watched her, and he spent many afternoons with his office door locked while he satisfied his urges, imagining various scenarios involving the two of them.

One day, his fantasy came true. Preoccupied with the low-cut dress Linda was wearing, he had forgotten to lock his office door. He was on the verge of climax, eyes closed and head thrown back in ecstasy when the door opened and Linda walked in.

“Mr. Benson, I need you to sign these requisitions for…” She froze when she saw him, sitting at his desk with his pants wide open.

Harold scrambled to cover himself and recover whatever dignity he had left. Linda’s next stop would be Human Resources. He would be publicly humiliated and probably asked to resign. His career was over.

What happened next was unexpected.

“Can I help you with that?” she asked, voice dripping with honey.

Unable to speak, Harold merely nodded. Linda leaned back against the door, shutting it. He heard the lock click into place.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this,” she said, slipping out of her dress and letting it fall to the floor.

Every fantasy he’d ever had was about to come true. For one sickening moment, Harold was certain he was asleep and dreaming; that he would wake up just as she was about to touch him.

When Linda climbed onto his lap and made love to him, he didn’t wake up from a dream. He did, however, experience an awakening of another kind.

His affair with Linda continued, and as the months passed, Harold gradually felt his confidence returning. For the first time in his life he felt like a man. He accepted the possibility that his mother may have been wrong. Subservience didn’t make him a man. It made him a doormat. Standing up for what he believed in was the mark of a true man, and he believed that he wanted to be with Linda.

He made a decision. No more would he endure Bernice’s abuse. He would ask for – no – he would DEMAND a divorce that night.

* * *

Harold ducked to avoid the half-full tumbler of gin and tonic Bernice hurled at him. The glass exploded against the cupboard door behind where his head had been a second earlier.

“A divorce?” she screeched. Her cheeks flushed with alcohol-fueled fury. “Oh, you think so, do you? You think you’re just going to put me out on the street like some used-up old whore?”

“I believe you actually have to have sex to be considered a whore,” Harold said calmly. He never would have dreamed of speaking to her that way before. Now, he felt cool and confident. He was unafraid of her, and his new-found courage was liberating.

“What did you say to me?” Bernice roared, wobbling a bit in her drunken haze as she looked around for something else to throw at him.

“You heard me.”

“Well, let me tell you something, Mister Smartypants.” Bernice grabbed her bottle of Tanqueray and took a swig of straight gin. “It just so happens, I know a thing or two.”

“Do tell, Dear.” Harold made sure he made ‘Dear’ sound anything but endearing.

“I know about your little affair with that slut in your office.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“DON”T FUCKING LIE TO ME!” she screamed.

“Calm down, Bernice. It’s quite simple. I don’t love you. I don’t know if I ever did. This marriage has been a sham from the beginning and I want a divorce. I’ll see that you’re well taken care of. I don’t think we have much else to discuss.”

“Oh yes, there is, you cheating bastard!” Bernice squinted, curling one side of her mouth into a sinister sneer. “I know. I know everything. About Linda, your little office grope-fests, those nights you were supposedly ‘working late’. A while back, I got an anonymous call from someone in your office. Someone cared enough about the sanctity of marriage to tell me what you were up to. I didn’t care much. If you were getting it from her, then you wouldn’t be always trying to put your perverted hands on me.”

“But I never…!” Harold protested, trying to quell the rage that boiled inside him. He had long ago given up making any attempts at intimacy with his wife. It was more peaceful just to leave her snoring away in her gin-soaked slumber.

“No, you never, did you? All these years, I’ve tried to make myself attractive to you, and you won’t so much as lay a finger on me!” She sniffled, tears forming at the corners of her bloodshot eyes. “I’m a woman, you know! I have needs too! Needs that a limp-dicked loser like you could never satisfy!”

Harold’s jaw hung slack as he struggled to comprehend her incredulous accusations. He had tried, Lord knew how hard he had tried to develop an intimate relationship with her early in the marriage, but she’d made it clear she did not want to be touched. Where was this coming from? Then all at once he knew. She was already preparing her case for divorce court. She planned to paint him as cold and neglectful and herself as the longsuffering victim of a loveless marriage.

“This is your response? To try and make it all my fault?”

“If it isn’t your fault, then whose is it? You’re the one who wants the divorce. After I wasted all of my best years on you!”

“Those were your best years? Then it’s a good thing I’m getting out now, because I don’t think I could handle the worst ones.”

“For better or for worse, I believe it was. But,” she waggled her bottle of gin at him. “I thought I’d better get some insurance, just in case. So I hired a private investigator. I have photos of your little love affair. Photos you aren’t going to want shown in court.”

A sudden chill gripped Harold’s gut, squashing the bravado he’d felt moments earlier. With proof of adultery she would assassinate him in court. He’d be left with nothing. Linda wouldn’t want to be with him if he was broke, he was sure of it. He needed to rethink his strategy.

“Bernice, Honey, let’s not be hasty.” He did his best to muster up some realistic-looking tears. “I’m sorry. I take back everything I said about not loving you. I was weak, I admit it, and I’m so sorry I hurt you. Please, Darling, forgive me. I’ll do anything to gain your forgiveness,” he wept.

“Anything?” Bernice was grinning now, a wide, cruel smile that stretched her already too-thin lips to the point where they almost disappeared.

“Anything you want, Dear. Haven’t I always been a good husband? Haven’t I always provided for you and given you everything you wanted? All I ask is you forgive me this one transgression. Tell me, Darling, how can I make it up to you?”

“Oh, it’s going to take me a while to make a list, but the first thing you’re going to do is fire that floozy you’ve been fooling around with.”

“Fire Linda?”

“You got a problem with that? Fire her tomorrow or I’ll call my lawyer.”

“Sweetheart, tomorrow is Saturday. The office is closed.”

“Then Monday, stupid! Do I have to do all the thinking around here?”

“Yes Dear, whatever you want, Dear.”

“That’s more like it,” she slurred. The gin was almost gone, and hopefully she would go to bed soon.

Harold’s mind reeled. He didn’t want to fire Linda, but he needed more time to think. How could he make the weekend last longer? Then he had it.

“Darling, I’m desperate to make it up to you. Why don’t we take a trip, just the two of us? Two weeks, anywhere you want to go. You can go shopping. We’ll eat someplace fancy every night. Please, I don’t want our marriage to end like this.”

“Anywhere I want?”

“Anywhere.”

“What about work on Monday?”

“I’m an executive. I can take time off if I want to. I’ll just call in sick.”

“You are sick. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, Dear. You’re right. I’m sick.”

“I know where I want to go. You’ve always refused to take me there.”

“Where?”

“Hawaii.”

Harold wanted to punch her right in the middle of that smug grin. She was the one who had refused to go to Hawaii, not him! But he gritted his teeth and gave her what he hoped was a sweet smile.

“Fine. Hawaii it is. I will make flight arrangements first thing tomorrow. Why don’t we get some sleep now, Dear?”

“Way ahead of you,” she mumbled, wobbling off toward the bedroom.

The last thing Harold wanted was to do was take a vacation with his shrew of a wife, but it was the only way he could think of to buy some time. He had successfully distracted her from demanding that he fire Linda on Monday. If he booked a Sunday flight, he would have the excuse that he’d have to wait until they returned to fire her. In the meantime, he would get a message to Linda, informing her of the recent developments and ask her to take care of business matters for him.

* * *

Luck was on his side, and Harold managed to secure two First Class seats on Flight 266 to Honolulu and a room at a luxurious Oceanside resort.

The following morning while Bernice was sleeping off her hangover, Harold slipped out for coffee at Starbuck’s so he could call Linda in relative privacy. He related the previous night’s events to her.

“I just don’t know what to do, Linda. I’m so sorry you got dragged into this. If I divorce her now, she’ll ruin me.”

“Then there’s only one solution,” Linda said.

“If you know of a way out of this, I’m all for it.”

“You take her to Hawaii, but only one of you returns.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Yes. Read between the lines, Harry. All I’m going to say is, lots of accidents can happen in Hawaii. People drown in the surf. You take a hike up a volcano, then… oops! Use your imagination, Babe. You’ll figure something out. When you get back, I’ll be waiting for you. I love you, Harry.” She hung up before he could respond.

She loves me! His heart fluttered, in a way it never had for Bernice. No matter what happened in Hawaii, he had Linda.

But kill Bernice?

He had to admit, he’d thought of it more than once, the same way he’d fantasized about having sex with Linda. That fantasy had come true, so why not this one?

His phone dinged, indicating a text message. It was from Linda. He opened it eagerly. It was a picture of a breast. The message said, ‘Remember what’s waiting for you. Now delete this and go get ‘er!’

He picked up a bouquet of flowers on the way home and walked back into the house whistling a light-hearted tune. For the first time since he walked down the aisle, he saw light at the end of the tunnel.

After receiving a tongue-lashing from Bernice about buying flowers that were just going to be dead by the time they returned, Harold helped her pack for their dream vacation to Hawaii.

It was going to be a dream, all right. A dream come true. He had the entire flight and subsequent two weeks to plan and execute his wife’s demise, and then he could finally start his life.

* * *

The plane hadn’t finished taxiing down the runway when Bernice started to complain.

“This seatbelt is faulty. It’s too tight. I’m taking it off.”

“Just a few minutes, Dear. Once we’re in the air you can take it off.”

“Well who designed these damn things? Probably the same assholes who design clothes – anorexics only!”

Harold clamped his lips shut tight. It wouldn’t do to argue with her or point out that the seatbelt was tight because she had gained considerable girth since their wedding. It was a good thing he had booked First Class, because he didn’t think her ass would have fit in a Coach seat.

The moment the Fasten Seatbelts sign went off, Bernice had the flight attendant running, bringing her gin after gin, slippers, a pillow, then a new pillow because the one she had smelled like farts.

Harold gazed out the window at the rugged snow-capped mountains below, picturing the curve of Linda’s breast in her last text. He mulled over the various ways he could kill Bernice. Drowning might be difficult, since a woman her size was incredibly buoyant. With his luck he’d push her overboard and she’d bob there like a cork until someone rescued her. Of course, there was always the possibility of a shark attack…

The volcano option was unlikely, since Bernice wouldn’t hike anywhere unless a buffet was waiting at the other end.

Poison, perhaps? Alcohol poisoning? Maybe he could make it look accidental. There had to be a way.

The plane gave a sickening lurch, then shuddered violently. Harold jumped in his seat. The Fasten Seatbelts sign lit up again. Bernice muttered curses into her gin and tonic.

Oxygen masks dropped in front of their faces, and a crescendo of screams rose from the Coach cabin behind them. A flight attendant emerged from the cockpit and gathered the others into a cluster, where she whispered to them urgently before ducking behind the curtain that separated First Class from Coach.

A woman’s voice came over the intercom.

“This is flight attendant Julie Todd. The captain has informed me that we are having mechanical difficulties. The cabin may lose pressure, so please take a moment to place your oxygen masks over your faces. If traveling with small children, please put on your own mask first before assisting with theirs.”

Harold detected a quaver in the flight attendant’s voice. She sounded scared, and it frightened him. She was trained to handle events such as this.

Harold put on his mask, noticing that Bernice was still sipping her gin. She had made no move to fasten her seatbelt or put on her mask.

“Honey, you should put your mask on. This could be serious.”

“Bullshit. This is just a drill. They do it all the time. It’s like a fire drill.”

Harold knew for a fact that she was mistaken, but decided to leave her alone. She’d be better company unconscious anyway, if the plane did depressurize. A flight attendant was headed in their direction, having seen that Bernice was not wearing her seatbelt and oxygen mask. The plane suddenly banked to the left, sending the flight attendant and anything that wasn’t nailed down hurtling to the other side of the plane.

“Assume crash position and brace for impact!” the captain’s voice said over the intercom.

Everything moved in slow motion. The sounds of fear and chaos filled the cabin – screams of passengers. Flight attendants telling people to place their heads between their legs to prepare for an emergency landing.

Harold dared a peek out the window. Did those mountains look closer? The plane was traveling in a distinct forward slant now, and he realized that he probably wasn’t going to survive.

His thoughts went immediately to Linda. Not to the loss of his own life, but the loss of what might have been if he hadn’t been such a pushover all his life. If this is what it meant to have your life flash before your eyes before you die, his was a pretty poor example of a life. So many regrets, so little life lived.

Bernice’s screams jolted him out of his reverie.

“This is all YOUR fault, Harold! You dragged me onto this death-plane against my will! Is this how you planned to get rid of me? To kill me in cold blood? You coward! You’ve been a coward all your life, and now you’re going to die a coward!”

Suddenly, everything became crystal clear to Harold. His biggest regret was not that he was going to die without having really lived, but that he was being robbed of the chance to kill the red-faced screeching banshee wedged into the seat beside him.

Harold tore the mask off his face. Nobody reprimanded him, because all of the flight attendants were already strapped in and tucked into crash position. He unbuckled his seatbelt and lunged at Bernice, wrapping his hands around her throat.

“I’m going to kill you if it’s the last thing I ever do!” He shouted into her face, squeezing with Herculean strength he didn’t know he had.

She made a gackkk sound and flapped her thick, doughy arms at him. Her face darkened from red to purple. Harold squeezed for all he was worth. He felt her windpipe pop under his thumbs and he pressed harder. There seemed no end to his strength, and he’d never felt more alive than he did at that moment. All the years of quiet subservience, humiliation and frustration culminated into that one single act.

Bernice’s eyes bulged and her lips opened and closed, silently for the first time since he’d known her. She looked like a giant purple fish, dying on the shore.

“You WILL die before I do!” he panted, spittle raining over her violet face. “You owe me at least that, you insufferable bitch!” Harold closed his eyes and clamped his hands down with everything he had. Bernice’s head sagged limply to one side, but he maintained his iron grip on her throat. This was how he wanted to die. They would literally have to pry her from his cold, dead hands. He would have the satisfaction of seeing her suffer in his last few moments of life, and that was the greatest gift she could ever give him.

“I love you, Linda! Harold shouted, bracing himself for impact.

* * *

Linda stretched out on her couch with a glass of Chardonnay to watch the evening news. Harry would be in Hawaii by now, and hopefully he had figured out how he was going to kill his wife.

It had been a long, slow process, but she had finally succeeded in seducing her boss. Now that he was in her back pocket, all she had to do was get rid of his wife and she would be on Easy Street. With Bernice too dead to drain him for alimony, everything would be theirs, and eventually hers. As Harry’s wife, she would no longer have to work as his secretary. Her replacement was already waiting in the wings – Brittany was a sultry blonde who had given up exotic dancing for secretarial school. Harry wouldn’t be able to resist Brittany. Once a cheater, always a cheater, and now that he’d done it once, the second time would be easier.

Linda would use the same trick she had suggested to Bernice when she placed that anonymous call months earlier. She would hire a private investigator, most likely the same one Bernice had used, to gather all the evidence she needed to prove adultery.

Yes, Easy Street. She’d earned it.

Lost in her champagne and caviar daydreams, Linda only half listened to the newscast, until something about a plane crash caught her interest. She sat upright when she heard the word Honolulu.

Wait – what? That was where Harry and Princess Bingo-Wings were landing. What the hell flight were they on? It couldn’t possibly be the same flight! She turned up the volume and sat, riveted to the screen.

“Flight 266 from New York to Honolulu experienced engine failure while flying over the Cascades near Washington State. The pilot saved the lives of nearly all passengers and crew with a last minute maneuver that steered the plane away from the mountains and over Puget Sound, where he executed a heroic water landing. The Coast Guard arrived quickly and rescued all survivors. There was only one casualty, a woman whose name is being withheld pending investigation and notification of immediate family. There has been talk of extenuating circumstances surrounding the woman’s death. She did not die as a result of the crash. Apparently she was deceased beforehand, having been strangled to death by her husband, who survived the crash. Several witnesses have corroborated the story, though authorities have declined to comment.”

The picture switched from the newscaster to live footage of passengers disembarking from Coast Guard cutters in Seattle. The dejected masses wrapped in blankets lost the spotlight to a single passenger, a man, who was led from the boat wearing handcuffs and handed over to waiting police.

Copyright © 2014 Mandy White

Published in Dysfictional 2

Juliette’s Book Club: Hooked From The Start

This is a fantastic book! I couldn’t put it down. Well worth the read!

Vampire Maman

This isn’t about a book I’m reading. It is a shameless plug for a book I wrote. From time to time I write under the name Marla Todd. It is the name I usually use for mainstream non-paranormal and non-vampire style of stories. Check it out. Leave a review. Tell your friends about it. You might even thank me for it later.

Exceptional Liars: A Novel by Marla Todd

Five Star Reviews:
Ever wish you could leave your life behind and just disappear?

That’s what main character Liz Hobbs does in Exceptional Liars. And I was hooked from the start.

Liz has a dysfunctional childhood, and then later in life gets trapped in an abusive marriage. She’s on the brink of self-destruction when she’s kidnapped by a murderous rapist and presumed dead, given a second chance at life.

A chance escape and rediscover who she really is.

With the help of…

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Sphere

~*~ The only thing Flat-Earthers have to fear is Sphere itself… ~*~

Lola almost turned back when she saw the darkened street filled with abandoned buildings. Love for her sister and a desire for a better life for both of them spurred her toward the address given by the woman on the phone.

48 Egasuas Ave. There it was. The building didn’t look like much; it appeared deserted, except for the freshly painted white door and intercom. Lola paused before pressing the button. Last chance to turn back.

Footsteps scuffled in the alley. A thin, hunched figure was approaching.

Shit. A junkie. Just what I need.

Lola slid her hand into her purse and felt for the smooth round security of her pepper spray canister. She jabbed the intercom’s call button.

“Yes?” A woman’s voice crackled over the speaker.

“Lola Cooper. I called on the phone. Can you let me in please?”

“Of course, Ms Cooper. One moment please.”

Lola wanted to scream that she didn’t have a moment. The junkie was only a few yards away and probably seconds from mugging her.

A buzzer sounded, followed by a metallic CLUNK and the door swung open.

Lola dashed inside and tried to push the door shut behind her, but it was automated and inched closed at an excruciating pace.

Fuck. Fuck. He’s going to get me.

“Hello? she called, “Is anyone there? I need some help here.”

The junkie was right outside the door. Lola heard his raspy breathing.

“Wait! Hold that door!” he said.

Not on your life, asshole, Lola thought. The door clicked shut and she slumped against it with a sigh of relief.

The intercom buzzed.

Seriously? He’s a persistent one.

Lola heard the muffled sound of the woman’s voice over the speaker outside, and then the buzz and CLANK as the door opened for the junkie. Lola backed away from the door, unsure of where to run.

“Help! Somebody! Help me!”

Footsteps echoed from somewhere and a door opened. Light spilled from the doorway, around the figure of a woman dressed in white.

“Ms Cooper. Sorry to keep you waiting. This way please.”

Lola scurried over to the woman and ducked through the doorway into the safety of the light.

“Thank you. But we need to hurry, there’s a – ”

“We just need to wait a moment. There is one more person joining us.” The woman held the door open for the approaching junkie. “Mr. Benson, welcome. Come this way, please.”

Lola’s cheeks flushed and she ducked her head to hide her embarrassment. It hadn’t occurred to her that she might not be the only one arriving at that time.

The young man who stepped through the doorway wasn’t more than a kid; maybe twenty years old, but his sunken cheeks and gray complexion told a story of a hard life and probably addiction, as Lola had suspected. He was part of this too? Lola realized it made sense. An offer of a large sum of money to participate in a scientific experiment was bound to attract a lot of desperate people. And nobody was more desperate than an addict.

“If you’ll both follow me, please,” the woman said.

Lola almost had to jog to keep up the brisk pace. She focused on the tight blonde bun above the collar of the woman’s lab coat, to avoid meeting the eyes of the junkie.

The woman stopped at a closed door and entered numbers on a keypad. Another CLUNK and the door opened.

The glare of fluorescent lighting reflected off of every surface in the room. Everything was white from floor to ceiling, even the furnishings. Small tables with chairs occupied most of the floor space. It was a cross between hospital cafeteria and futuristic nightclub.

“Please have a seat anywhere you like,” the woman said, “The others will be here shortly, and then we’ll begin. Can I offer you some refreshments?” She pulled a remote from her pocket and pressed a button. A section of the wall slid back, revealing a fully stocked bar, coffee machine, and a glass-front fridge filled with beverages. “Talk amongst yourselves. I’ll be back shortly.”

Lola knew better than to eat or drink anything offered by strangers who kept hidden lairs in old buildings.

The addict made his way to the bar and rummaged, probably in hopes of finding something besides liquor. He finally settled for a can of Pepsi.

He leaned against the wall across the room from Lola, arms folded, scratching himself every few minutes.

Some time passed and then the door CLUNKED again. The woman in white returned, leading three people: The first was a large bearded man who might have come directly from a taping of Duck Dynasty. He was dressed in camouflage clothing from head to toe, from his boots to his baseball cap. The other two were a couple, judging from the way they squabbled. The woman wore heavy makeup and her hair was teased into a jumble of red on top of her head. Part of a faded blue tattoo peeked over the top of her hot pink tube top.

“Lola Cooper and Josh Benson, please welcome our newest arrivals: Bradley and Becky Modine and William Worth”

“Naw, nobody calls me William, sweetheart,” Duck Dynasty drawled. “It’s Billy, but everyone just calls me Bud.”

“Very well, Bud. Why don’t you and the others get acquainted and help yourself to some refreshments. We are waiting for a few more to arrive, then we’ll begin.”

Lola wasn’t sure if she wanted to acquaint herself with any of the others. She remained silent and stayed in her seat.

Becky wandered around the room, searching for something.

“Where’s the ashtrays?”

“Sorry, there’s no smoking in this part of the building,” the woman in white told her.

“What? That’s fucking bullshit! I didn’t sign up for…”

“Shut up!” Bradley shouted in her face. “Don’t start your shit right now, woman. Why don’t you make yourself useful and go find me a drink.” He planted himself in a chair and put his feet on the table.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Becky said, making a beeline for the box of Merlot on the counter. She poured a generous glass of wine for herself before opening the fridge to look for beer. She grabbed a can of Coors and gave it an extra shake before tossing it to Brad.

Lola heard the crack of the can being opened, followed by a string of cuss words as beer foam spewed over Brad’s hand.

“Fucking bitch! Be more careful next time!”

“How ‘bout next time you get your own fucking beer?”

* * *

An hour later, the room was filled with men and women ranging in age from approximately twenty to forty years. Many stood due to lack of seating.

A man walked into the room. Like the woman, he wore a lab coat.

“I am Dr Lawrence Hughes. You have already met my associate, Dr. Kathleen Welch. Thank you all for arriving on time.”

Junkie Josh raised his hand. “How much longer is this going to take?” Sweat glistened on his forehead.

“Not long. We will get started with a brief meet-and-greet. After that, we will proceed to the next room, where we will begin the experiment.”

“And then we can get our money and go?”

“Unfortunately, not all of you will be accepted for our program. Those who don’t meet the requirements will be paid a thousand dollars each for their time, as a thank you for taking the time to answer our ad. We will need to see identification from all of you. Please have your I.D. ready for Dr. Welch to inspect.”

Wallets and purses opened and everyone produced identification for the blonde doctor to inspect. Except for one – Billy-Bud Worth, aka Duck Dynasty.

“What if I don’t show I.D? he said. “Not sure I’m comfortable whippin’ it out for a bunch of strangers.”

“Then you won’t be accepted for the program. You will leave and collect a thousand dollars, no strings attached.”

Josh waved his hand. “Hey Doc! I’m out. Got no I.D. I’ll take the thousand and get out of your hair.”

“That’s too bad. Ok, if you’ll just bear with us – ”

“Nope. Now. I have to leave now. Give me my fucking grand and let me out of here.”

Dr. Hughes gave Dr. Welch a nod and she led Josh from the room.

Bud pondered for a moment, then sighed and pulled out his wallet, which was attached to his belt by a chain. He slapped his driver’s license on the table.

“When I call your name, you will follow me to the next room. Those of you whose names do not get called, thank you very much for attending. Dr. Welch will see you out and give you your thousand dollar payment.”

Hughes began calling names, and those called followed him down a hallway. The rest remained in the room, waiting to be escorted out by Dr. Welch.

The next room was white as well, but with slightly different décor.

Rows of white psychiatrist-style couches lined the room. On each couch was a clipboard with a document attached and a pen.

“Take a seat, everyone. The document you see is a release. This is your last chance to change your mind. You can choose not to sign, walk away right now and collect a thousand dollars. If you sign it, you give consent to participate in our ground-breaking sleep study. It will also release our payment to you. As promised, you will receive one million dollars in cash, or electronic bank transfer if you prefer. If you choose bank transfer, please include the email address you use for online banking. The security password will be “payday”. We will transfer the funds and you can see it deposited in your bank account before we proceed.”

Mutterings rose across the room, along with a few laughs as everyone scoffed at the idea of accepting anything other than cash.

Bud’s voice boomed over the others, “Yeah, right. Like I’m gonna use any o’ that online shit for money. Y’all know that’s how the hackers git ya. I’ll take mine in cold, hard cash.” He signed the document with an illegible scrawl.

Hughes leaned over and pointed at a line on the document. “Be sure to add your next of kin, Bud. In case anything happens to you, we need to know who to give your money to. Just a precaution, of course.”

“Ain’t got none. If I don’t come outta this, I want my money to be buried with me.”

“As you wish.”

The rest of the room followed suit. All opted for cash except Lola. She chose the bank transfer option because it seemed wise to have a paper trail. She also had little confidence in her ability to tell the difference between real cash and a good counterfeit. She doubted anyone other than a banker could know for certain and the room seemed to have a distinct shortage of financial experts.

True to Dr. Hughes’ word, Lola accepted the transfer and then checked her bank balance on her phone. The new balance was one million dollars higher than it had been moments ago.

“Holy shit, it’s real,” she whispered. She hoped this was worth it, whatever this was. If anything happened to Lola, her twin sister Lisa had access to their joint bank account and the money would become hers.

Once everyone had signed and been paid, Dr. Hughes allowed them a few minutes to examine their briefcases full of money. Lola had never seen a million dollars in cash before, but didn’t dare ask anyone for a closer look. The paranoid glances that flashed from one face to the next warned her to keep her distance.

Dr. Hughes cleared his throat.

“It’s time to get started. If you’ll all please lie back on your couches and relax, we will get this over with quickly and then you will be free to enjoy your wealth.

They obeyed with some reluctance, not wanting to let their money out of their sight. Twenty-nine people lay on couches, clutching briefcases to their laps. Lola lay briefcase-free, her arms by her sides.

The lights dimmed until only shadows remained.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you are about to make history. You are pioneers, about to take part in the creation of a brave new world.”

A murmur of excitement rippled over the room.

“Listen to the sound of my voice. Relax. And when the lights return, the experiment will be complete.”

The ones closest to the walls heard a faint hissing sound as colorless, odorless gas filled the room.

* * *

Bright light filled the room, accompanied by the rustle of movement, the rasp of smokers’ coughs, and yawns.

Lola faded back to consciousness. It took a few minutes to remember where she was. Gradually the memories returned; the doctors, the million dollar payment, the Craigslist ad that started it all:

Volunteers wanted for sleep experiment. Payment in cash. Substantial monetary compensation for the right candidates. Call for more information.

When she called to inquire, the woman, presumably Dr. Welch, conducted a brief interview over the phone. Some sort of psychological questionnaire, judging by the odd questions:

“What is your favorite dinosaur?

How old is the Earth?

Who was the first man to walk on the moon?

Who was responsible for 9/11?

Is the Earth round, square, or flat?”

And so on… simple questions any fool would know how to the answer. A week later she received a call saying that she had been accepted for the experiment, and the payment would be… WHAT?

“I’m sorry, could you please repeat that?”

“One million dollars.” You will be paid one million dollars in cash,” the voice on the phone said.

Lola was skeptical, as was her sister Lisa. They had made the phone call together, via speaker phone. Lisa answered the questions, even though it would be Lola who showed up for the experiment. She didn’t agree with Lisa’s answers, but she never argued with her sister. Lisa needed to feel in control whenever possible. Her disability didn’t allow her that luxury very often.

“But what if it’s for real? We need the money.”

Lisa rolled her wheelchair closer to Lola and reached for her hand. “I need you more than I need money. Let’s pray on it. The good Lord will guide us with His wisdom.”

Lola tolerated the prayer like she tolerated the rest of Lisa’s eccentricities: her obsession with chemtrails, her membership with the Flat Earth Society, and of course her religious beliefs, which bordered on fanaticism. But all quirks aside, Lisa was her twin, and she loved her. Lola knew she was going to go, regardless of what Lisa thought God wanted.

She didn’t want to upset Lisa; her faith was her life. But Lola lived in the real world. Prayer didn’t pay medical bills. Lisa’s insurance didn’t cover the cost of her treatments, and as her illness progressed, the mountain of debt grew ever bigger. God wouldn’t have given her sister MS. God wouldn’t have buried them in debt they couldn’t pay. Fuck God. But maybe science could bail them out. She left Lisa a note asking her forgiveness and promising to return, then made her way to the address given to her by the caller.

* * *

While the rest of the room yawned and stretched, Bradley and Becky were already arguing.

“Gimme one of them!”

“Get your own damn smokes, woman! I only got a few left.”

“You ain’t gonna have any nuts left if I don’t get a smoke right now! Gimme!”

“Keep sassin’ me and you’re gonna get a fat lip. Here.” Bradley threw a cigarette at her.

“Gimme a light.”

He lit a smoke of his own, rubbed the lighter on his crotch and then flung it at her. “Stupid bitch.”

“Aw, real mature. Dickhead.”

Bud opened his briefcase to look inside, then snapped it shut again, as if worried that his cash would escape.

“Hey! Anybody know where a guy can drain the lizard ‘round here?”

A murmur ran through the group. Several others had the same idea.

“Over here!” A blonde woman in a leopard-print dress and stiletto heels clip-clopped toward an open doorway with male and female restroom signs on either side.

Other members of the group followed, forming dual lines in front of the bathroom doors, all clutching their briefcases of money. Bud drained the lizard one-handed, keeping a firm grip on his briefcase with the other.

The group milled around the room, exploring their surroundings. It wasn’t the same room they were in when they fell asleep.

A large TV screen hung on one wall with bland yet comfortable looking couches and plush armchairs arranged in front. Lola noticed one oddity: all the seats were equipped with seatbelts. A blind covered the opposite wall. The third wall accommodated the restrooms and the fourth held a set of double doors that led to a large open kitchen with booths and tables, all bolted to the floor like a fast food restaurant. Like the TV room, the seats had seatbelts.

“I still can’t find no ashtrays. Maybe I can open a window and ash outta that.” Becky strolled over to the wall opposite the TV and pulled on the blind. “Let’s see what’s behind here.”

The blind rose, revealing a large window. The room fell silent.

Space.

Blackness with stars stretched before their eyes.

A small tube was attached to the window. Becky saw the word TELESCOPE printed on the side of the tube. “Anyone know how to work this thing?”

Lola joined her at the window and examined the telescope. Astronomy was a hobby she kept secret from her sister, who didn’t believe in space or anything scientific. The telescope’s mount was a collapsible accordion-style thing. She pulled it away from the window and then expanded the telescope.

“Dang! Ain’t that nifty!” Becky said, breathing a lungful of smoke over Lola’s shoulder.

“Please, would you mind blowing that somewhere else? I don’t smoke.”

“Whatever, snowflake.” Becky huffed, moving back a few paces.

Lola ignored the remark and peered through the telescope. After a few seconds of searching, she found what she was looking for and confirmed her suspicions. A tiny blue planet with an even tinier moon could be seen in the distance. She adjusted the magnification on the scope to enlarge it.

Earth.

And they were not on it. In fact, they appeared to be moving away from it. But to where?

“Now what?” Becky said.

As if in reply, the TV screen flickered to life.

Dr Hughes was on the screen.

“Greetings everyone! If you’re watching this, then the sleep experiment was a success. Congratulations! Feel free to help yourself to refreshments and use the facilities at your leisure. You will be arriving at your destination shortly, and you will be notified prior to landing. When you hear the landing announcement, we ask that you follow instructions and remain seated with your seatbelts fastened. It’s just a precaution, of course. We anticipate a smooth landing, but in case the opposite occurs, we can’t have you hurtling around the cabin.”

“Cabin? What fucking cabin? Are we on an airplane?” Brad said.

Hughes droned on. Apparently they were watching a pre-recorded video.

“I’m sure by now you are wondering what your destination is. Let me start by saying that you are the first humans ever to set foot here. You are making history. You are pioneers in every sense of the word.”

Blondie stomped over to the screen and shouted at the larger-than-life image of Hughes. “I demand to know where you are sending us! This isn’t funny! I have an appointment tomorrow, and my manicurist will flip her shit if I have to cancel! You don’t even know…”

Voices rose across the room.

“Where are we?”

“You sendin’ us to one of those A-Rab countries? This better not be no Eye-Rack, or you gonna hear from my lawyer!”

“What the fuck kinda plane is this, anyways?”

“Hey! Quiet! Maybe we should listen to the rest of this!” Lola shouted over the crowd and pointed at the screen.

The TV screen had split into two panes. One continued to display Hughes, and the other, an image of outer space. A large reddish sphere filled most of the screen.

“What you see is your destination. The Red Planet, also known as Mars.”

“What? Fuck outta here with that bullshit.” Bud said.

“Yeah,” another voice piped up. “Y’all know that shit ain’t real.”

Dr. Hughes continued in the background. “You good folks have the honor of being the first humans to set foot on Mars. You will be the leaders of a new colony that has been decades in the making. We have sent numerous missions to Mars, manned by robots, which have constructed the domes and various structures that make up the colony. All that remained was to introduce a human population. You have all been carefully selected to be that population.”

Lola scanned the faces in the room. It looked like a trailer park block party. She had nothing in common with these people. How was it that she was chosen?

And then it hit her.

Lisa.

The questions.

Lisa had answered the questions, which were carefully selected to screen out everyone except science deniers, conspiracy theorists, Creationists… Flat Earthers…

Hughes droned on.

“You are all very fortunate to be part of this group. Your group is the only one to receive a large cash payment for participation. Our financial backers cut our budget immediately following our payout to you. They felt a million dollars was too extravagant and that we should select test subjects with less… financial motivation. So you not only have the honor of being the first humans on Mars, you will also be the most wealthy.”

“That’s what I’m talkin’ bout!” Bud whooped, waving his briefcase. “Rest o’ them assholes can suck it!”

“To be honest, we didn’t think you’d get this far,” Hughes said. “Our previous test subjects didn’t survive the hyper sleep. And then we thought; why not kill two birds with one stone? This can be an experiment in education as well. So we chose individuals who would be most resistant to the idea of a space colony. Non-believers, if you will. Well, I predict that if you survive this experiment you will emerge as believers. How can you not believe in space or science, when you’re in space, making scientific history? And anytime you feel homesick for your beloved “flat” Earth, you can gaze at your home planet through the telescope and bask in its beautiful spherical glory.”

The screen switched and the image of Mars filled the screen again, but Hughes’ voice continued to narrate.

“I’ll ask you now to please find a seat and fasten your seatbelts. The ride might get a little bumpy from here. Best of luck, we’re all rooting for you. If you survive the landing, you can rest assured that your colony is going to grow. We have already dispatched a second shuttle filled with death row inmates to keep you company.”

Copyright © 2018 Mandy White

Published in Dysfictional 3

Free Reads…Because Why the Hell Not?

It’s free ebook time again. Because why the hell not? A lot of us are stuck at home due to the pandemic and shitty winter weather, so why not grab something to read? I have a couple of short stories available for FREEEE right now, and several collections coming up in the next few weeks. Let’s start with these:

The Dark Side of the World:

Humans evacuate a dying Earth to start over on a distant planet. When familiar social patterns emerge, it becomes clear that they have learned nothing. FREE download until Feb 22: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B084V23P57

Just One Kiss:

The day her brother tore his own head off and didn’t die was the day Johanna first suspected that all was not right with the world.
A teenage waitress and her sister find their world turned upside down when men start behaving strangely, trying to woo every woman they see, spouting lines from old romantic movies. But it isn’t all love and romance; the men have been infected by an alien virus that makes them tear off their own heads and implant alien eggs into women. All it takes is a single kiss… FREE download until Feb 22: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B084TMBZNF

Tinsel Tales: A Holiday Treasury:

A collection of holiday tales that can be enjoyed year round, by the talented writers of WPaD. (Writers, Poets, and Deviants) FREE download until Feb 22: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00GGYN31C

Tinsel Tales 2: Holiday Hootenanny:

From Halloween to Arbor Day, the stories in this holiday-themed collection are more than just your typical Christmas tales. By WPaD. (Writers, Poets, and Deviants) FREE download starts Feb 22 and runs until Feb 26: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07J1PW1HF

Watch this space for more freebies in the weeks to come!