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  1. #21
    Senior Member Ene's Avatar
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    In fact, I was so sure of it and so sure that I wanted out that I began to formulate a lot in my mind, a plot to kill Devlin, Hank and Harold. I was tired of sleeping with idiots and running errands for obscene jerks. even prison was better than what i was putting up with, but I wasn't going to prison, not willingly anyway.

    Also, I would take no chances on some weird twist of fate resurrecting these morons from the dead. It was clear to me that I was existing in a world where anything was possible. So when Devlin came in for his "fun" I wrapped my slender, nimble legs around his puny neck. I'd seen my aunts wring enough chicken heads off back home that I knew just how to turn, just how to twist. I felt the crack between my knees and watched the horrified look on Devlin's face as the life went out of his eyes and for a moment, I felt sad that I had killed him, but what was done was done. His body expelled all his fluids. i almost puked, but at least it was proof that he was dead.

    Now I had to dispose of his body and get out of this motel room. First order of business was to get out of the chair. I fished around in dead Devlin's pocket with my toes until I found his pocket knife. With those same limber legs that had freed me from having to have sex with this freak, I brought the knife to my mouth and opened it with my teeth. Then I awkwardly cut through the ropes enough to loosen them. I was able to free myself now.

    I went to Devlin's closet. He was bigger than me, but disguising myself as a man wouldn't be that hard. I ended up in a pair of khaki pants which i belted around my waist as tightly as i could, a T-shirt and a denim jacket that nicely concealed my feminine attributes. I just put them all on over the thin top and shorts that I happened to be wearing. But shoes? His feet were bigger than mine. I found a pair hiking boots and stuffed the toes with toilet paper. I stuck the stilettos I'd worn into my pocket. Now, the only task remaining was how to get rid of the body, 160 pounds of dead weight, and the longer I waited the stiffer it would become. Did he go to Hell? I wondered and would I go for sending him there? "No time for that," I told myself. "Think clearly."

    I let my gaze wander around the room. Next step. Clean up every trace of evidence that id been there and as I cleaned, it hit me. There had to be some way to help him break his own neck. Sure the forensic people would figure it out eventually, but that would give me time to carry out my plans for H&H. Then it hit me. The rope. I used the very rope that I'd been tied with. I tied the cut pieces back together, made a noose, eased it around the old boy's neck, then tied the other end to a bed post. We were about fifteen stories up. I opened a window, drug old Devlin across the floor. Funny how strong adrenaline can make a person. I pulled him onto the window sill then gave him a shove. Devlin was swinging by his neck fifteen stories above the street and me? I calmly exited the building and walked away before anyone had even looked up and seen him swinging there. For now I was free. I was no longer a whore, no longer a cop. I was an assassin and I had one agenda. Get Hank and Harold out of my life for good.
    A student said to his master: "You teach me fighting, but you talk about peace. How do you reconcile the two?" The master replied: "It is better to be a warrior in a garden than to be a gardener in a war." - unknown/Chinese

    http://www.typologycentral.com/forum...=61024&page=14

  2. #22
    Senior Member Ene's Avatar
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    Plotting to murder your pimps isn't easy. I had spent the better part of two days in hiding. I had stolen several items of clothing and was hanging out in an area where a bunch of homeless people frequented. I just kept my mouth shut and my head down. There are worse things than not having a bed to sleep in and one of them is having sleep with people you can barely stand to look at. Besides, if growing up so poor that the landlord's chickens lived better than I did had taught me anything, it was resilience.so, I plotted and planned and ate from dumpsters. Then I remembered Scottie, a long-haired, heavily tattooed maniac from a Kentucky holler who scared Hank so badly once that Hank pissed his pants. I had never spoken to Scottie, but I'd seen him every now and then when he came to collect from Hank. He stood about 6'2" with long, lean muscles. He had steely eyes and his brow was etched into a permanent scowl. After he had left, I overheard Hank and Harold discussing him. Apparently, he was a contract killer and had allegiance to no one. Once I had dropped a package for Scottie, a message about a job. I went down to a bridge about four blocks from Hank's place and scrawled a message on the wall. "Thursday mid-night spiders eat flies down on peir 14." Then on Thursday, I ditched my homeless look, took the cash I still had stuffed in my shorts pockets from my last job, popped into WalMart and bought a box of blonde dye, a sundress and a pair of plain white tennis shoes. I went down to the peir and waited for Scottie.
    A student said to his master: "You teach me fighting, but you talk about peace. How do you reconcile the two?" The master replied: "It is better to be a warrior in a garden than to be a gardener in a war." - unknown/Chinese

    http://www.typologycentral.com/forum...=61024&page=14

  3. #23
    Problem? Grand Admiral Crunch's Avatar
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    Up close, Scottie's a marshmallow. I could take him down. Made no sense for Harold and Hank to be threatened by this guy.
    “Someone else wanted them dead. Now they are,” Scotty says. “What will you do now?”

    Searching Hank's penthouse for money, I'm careful to keep everything tidy. A mess would enrage Hank. He'd yell, shake me, hit me. It could be much worse than that. Hank's dead, so I shouldn't worry, but I do. I'm still scared. The front door opens. Expecting Hank, I freeze. The pain isn't the bad part. It's my powerlessness, the humiliation of it, feeling like my feelings don't matter.

    A cart of food rolls in; fried cat fish, mac and cheese, lemon meringue pie, iced tea. Southern comfort food. I am a southerner in need of comfort and I'm starving. I eat all of it. A wave of calm comes over me, and I just want to relax. I take a warm bath and think about Devlin. I liked Devlin; took me out to the movies, long walks, for ice cream. There was no pressure to have sex, so we never did. He was one of the nicest people I'd ever met. I don't know why I did what I did, why I hurt people who are kind to me. But I hate that I do it and I hate who I've become. I need for someone to say that I'm okay, that I'm not an awful person. Devlin might've said it, but I killed him. Now I'm alone.

    I climb onto Hank's bed and fold my body into itself, trying to make myself disappear. I close my eyes. When I wake up, Hank's standing by a wind staring out. Is it a ghost, my imagination or is it...He turns around. I hold my breath, bracing myself for whatever happens. In an instant, he's standing next to me. “It's okay. Calm down. You're okay.” His expression is soft. I'm okay. He doesn't know about Scottie. I'm safe.

    He leans down and touches my face. “We're coming to a crossroads in our relationship. You are the other half of me. I would do anything for you...and you, tried to kill me.”

    He knows! I'm going to die. I might as well hit him. I analyze his posture, looking for an opening to attack. Before I can move, he slides behind me and pins me to his chest. His arm, bigger than my thigh, is wrapped across me. I bend down to bite it. He grabs my hair and pulls my head backwards. “I'm bigger, stronger. I fight better. I'm smarter. I have more money and power. Get it? You can't beat me. You can't escape me. All you can do is give in.”

    “Can't you just let me go?”

    “What? So you can find another asshole? Because that's what you like, isn't it?!? ISN'T IT?!? Think I enjoy watching you suffer? I don't. Just giving you what you want. Until you're sick of it...So, these are your choices. I can be your hero or your villain, but either way this story ends with me.”

    “I just want to go home.”

    “To that place where you can't jog because everyone driving past offers you a ride?” Hank laughs. “Okay. You go back there and I'll come rescue you when you start going crazier.”

  4. #24
    Senior Member Ene's Avatar
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    That stupid Hank.

    He left me no choice, grabbing me by the hair like that and forgetting that I was a redneck from Mississippi.

    I did the only thing a country girl could do. I dropped my weight to one knee with uncanny speed, twisted as I bent and sent Hank flying over my head like he was made out of paper then faster than a buzzard on road kill I pounced on him. I don't know what took over me, unless it was just plain old adrenaline, but I dug my thumbs in his eyes and popped them right out of his head. He was hollering and screaming bloody murder and I suppose that unnerved me a little bit because I just wanted him to shut up. I gave his neck a jerk and left him dead on the floor. I cleaned up all evidence of my DNA, even a country girl knows not to leave evidence lying around. I was crying when I walked out of that room and made my way across the street. I'd killed twice already. Devlin, did he deserve it? Yes. And Hank? No question. Did Devlin want sex? Yes of course he did. Was Devlin nice to me? No. He was just like all of the rest of them. He really truly only wanted one thing. To control me and I would not be controlled, not by men, not by drugs, not by society, not by anything. I was one step closer to freedom. So much for Scottie. He was a sorry assassin, as far as I could tell. "Never leave a man to do a woman's job," I thought to myself. I kept the cash I was going to pay him. I knew where to find Harold, sooner or later, he would turn up and Big Joe's, a club frequented by drug dealers and their women. I was going there, but not as myself, not tonight. I used the money I'd stolen from Hank to buy myself a nice sharp finger nail file, and then I went shopping for clothes. No more shorts and low class whore outfits. Tonight, I dressed in black boots, spandex leggings and a leather jacket. And I traded my dark curls in for long blonde locks, capped off with a black bandana and shades. When I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror at the visitor's station where my transformation happened, even I had trouble recognizing me. Once upon a time I had been a sweet little girl from Mississippi, then I had been a victim. I would not be a victim again, not ever. Once Harold was gone I was leaving this city. No more cities. No more pimps and hopefully, no more killing, but hey what was my granny used to say? A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.
    A student said to his master: "You teach me fighting, but you talk about peace. How do you reconcile the two?" The master replied: "It is better to be a warrior in a garden than to be a gardener in a war." - unknown/Chinese

    http://www.typologycentral.com/forum...=61024&page=14

  5. #25
    Sheep pill, broster asynartetic's Avatar
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    The accountant reeked of cheap beer and pub food. Dried ranch dressing adorned his mustache.

  6. #26
    Problem? Grand Admiral Crunch's Avatar
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    Hank's casket is in a small room at the funeral home. I have words for Hank's dead body. Son of a bitch won't be talking back, blaming me for him being an asshole. I have the last word. But the casket won't open. I shake it around. Doesn't budge. Fucker. I get pissed and flip the thing onto the floor. “I'm not done with you.” I straddle it and claw at the door. “Fine. Hide in your casket, mother fucker. Fuck you. Fuck you and your shit, Hank. You suck diamond hard cock. Fuck you I hate you Die Fuck all your friends and family You are all cunts. I hate you forever. Fuck your shit and die.” I kick the casket. “Die, die, die. 1000 more times.” This doesn't make me feel better, just more pissed. I scratch the walls. “I hate you so much.”

    An hour later, they set up the funeral and people start showing up. Harold's there. I've seen him a few times. I don't know him. But I hate him. It's Hanks face, like he's still alive and the job's not done. Lots of people come to the funeral. There's talk about what a great person he was and tears and sadness. They're saying he brought joy and light to the world. What? Why was I the only one who knew his evilness? Was it something I did? I did something wrong. I killed him and made all these people cry. No. No. He was an asshole and they are all cunts. Their lies deny my truth and all the shit he put me through. I hate all of them. They created that monster, unleashed him, and made my world a pissy place. These people deserve much worse than his death. They deserve to feel every bit of hell he caused me, for their lives to be ruined, to wish to be dead. They're going to pay for what they did to me.

    I can't stand it anymore. I cross paths with Harold on the way out. It takes every ounce of self restraint I have not to attack him.

    “You're Hank's girlfriend, right?”

    “He was my pimp.”

    Harold laughs. It's not funny, but I'm glad I had that effect on someone.

    The smile drops from his face. “Growing up with Hank wasn't easy. He could be selfish...I'm sorry if he hurt you.”

    An aquarium breaks behind my eyes and the tears come out uncontrollably. Harold reaches out and pulls me into an embrace. It feels good to be held like this. I feel the simultaneous urge to get closer and further from him. I want to love him, and be with him and I see all the bad things happening all over again.

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