"We have forgotten how to be good guests-- how to walk lightly on the Earth as its other creatures do."

~ Barbara Mary Ward

Vienna, Austria

May 14th, 2005

"Thank you, Mercy." The ageing man responded to the nurse. The falter in his voice had still not recovered from the peculiar events of the previous month. What had brought around the unexpected transformation in the great and proud Mr Aldrich Hunter was unknown to most. How could such an arrogant, power-hungry beast be so humbled over a few mysterious days? But everyone knew it had something to do with Nixie. Phoenix Landskein. His bombshell of a second wife. Unlike Mr Hunter and his son, she never returned to the mainframe, and no one knew where she was.

Neo Hunter took the chair on the other end of the fine dining. The table was older than the portrait of the Mona Lisa, spanning nine feet and carved with fine, intricate details from head to toe. The delicacies were not abundant enough to cure the hunger of an entire state anymore. Only what was required was served, and nothing went to waste. Neo ensured that was the case, and no one had any objections to raise. Perhaps it all had to do with the generational transfer of authority from father to son, most people believed.

But Neo Hunter knew better. Neo Hunter knew firsthand what had brought around the radical transformations in the Hunter household. It had everything to do with Mrs Phoenix Landskein, his enigmatic stepmother.

Sighișoara, Romania

April 9th, 2005

That bitch. Neo Hunter rolled down the haystacks piled so high atop one another. How could she? Neo always knew Phoenix Landskein was up to something, but everyone refused to believe him. But with hands tied against a coir rope and rashes of his allergy presenting themselves on his pale skin, Neo knew that was his best chance to prove his suspicions right before everyone. Phoenix Landskein was a gold-digger bitch.

Vision yet to be stable, Neo raised himself to stand, gaining support from his elbows and knees. The whole world spun around him, dizziness almost throwing him into another long daze. But Neo was desperate not to lose consciousness once again-- he slammed himself against the wall in the hopes of steadying his composure, his head held tight between his arms to squish some sense into him. Neo felt his throat ache and his entire frame sweating, leaving his body devoid of moisture. He needed water. Lots of it. Quick breaths. Long breaths.

The barn doors opened with a rasp to reveal before him a courtyard left unchecked for years prior. Ferns and rust had reclaimed all the fences and adornments once white and lustrous. Hints of a winding path leading to an old estate hid beneath the extensive flora consuming whatever men built over its natural state. The tall stone manor at the end of the road-- made almost entirely of stone and iron-- was all too familiar for Neo Hunter. It was his childhood home.

July 1986

The nights were the hardest. So were the days, but the newfound solace of jabbering strangers at school offered Neo an odd comfort. Was there a name for the fear of dinners? But it wasn't the food that scared him. It was what came with it. The people. His family. Every time he heard his name being hollered from downstairs, every step he took towards the dining room-- it all took an act of courage.

Gripping silences. Heaviness in the air. Neo often attempted to not let his cutlery touch the dishes, to not produce the slightest noise so that his parents wouldn't notice his presence. He only left the table once his mom disappeared into the kitchen and his dad to the porch.

But some days, even his silence could not save the tumults which were to befall. Sometimes, it was a hair in the soup, sometimes a tad amount of extra salt in the bacon. But his father's outrage always shook the entire cabin to the core.

Neo never looked at his father when that happened. He looked at his mom. How her eyes were shut, and a lonesome tear caressed her folds. How her palms clutched the dress she was wearing. Before long, when his father disappeared into another room, Gaia always asked Neo to go to his room. And there, he would sleep to the muffled cries of his mother in the place of lullabies, pillows tight against his eyes and ears to tuck himself into dreams where everything was alright.

April 9th, 2005

The rashes grew bigger and redder with the passage of every minute. Unable to find anything sharp and steady, Neo headed to their old kitchen, hoping to find something to free himself. But it was empty. Hollow. The fire and aura had long settled into smoke and filth. That was when he heard a cry from the floor above. Father. Rushing atop the stairs, Neo shouldered open the doors to their old bedroom.

"Finally. You're awake." Phoenix Landskein was a woman of stature, or at least she possessed the charm of someone alike. There she stood, at 5"7', holding what seemed to be a leash made of the creepers from the grounds-- stains of red embellishing the light green of the stem. His father lay on his chest atop the busted cot, his bare back adorned with streaks of blood as he struggled to flee his chains. His restraints were not coir, but cold iron, leaving him zero chance of escaping the onslaught.

Phoenix walked up to Neo, stopping only a few inches away. Neo wanted to back up, but the notion of her kicking him down from the foyer persuaded him to keep his ground. The whip safe in her right hand, Phoenix stared right into his soul-- her green eyes threatening to claw out his deepest fears. In the end, a smile. She took his arms and twined her palms around the coir ropes, only for the yarns to magically untangle themselves, freeing him from its clutch. She passed the leash to his hands, whispering to his ear, "Careful."

As Phoenix strolled down the stairs, Neo ran to his father to help him escape. He needed something to break the chains apart, and soon upon his search, he found all the utensils from their old kitchen on the bedside table, spread neatly on a wet towel. And while picking up the hammer, Neo noticed how his rashes had faded into his skin, no longer inducing an allergic reaction.

But before he could carry his father out somewhere safe, Neo felt the temperature rising around him. Fire. He walked faster only to nearly slip over the stairs, losing the clutch over his father. His rather plump figure tumbled down the stairs, and for a moment, Neo was afraid he had marked the end of his father's life. But the day had other intentions, not a life being lost, though the stone-cold manor collapsed in on itself, leaving no reminiscence of the world Neo once knew.

Vienna, Austria

May 14th, 2005

Putting his father to sleep and piling a heavy blanket atop his fragile frame, Neo walked out of his bedroom to the cold verandah. Phoenix Landskein was never found after that day. Even the most capable investigation teams couldn't gather a clue as to where she was. And the non-cooperative silence of the father and son only led to more and more suspicions and never a proper answer.

But whenever Neo brought around a change in his father's allocation of wealth for the better, the trees and animals seemed to bow before him. The sun seemed to shine brighter on the days' Neo had felt his best. And on the days when Neo felt despair, the clouds taught him to let his tears fall. And whenever he reminisced about his mother, he felt the air tug him into a warm embrace. The leash no longer had the stains of blood, but it bloomed and flowered in the courtyard of their home.

Neo knew what had happened to the Hunter household. It had everything to do with Mrs Phoenix Landskein.

#####

I struggled with writer's block for a long while in between, and I'm sure a lot of people out there has the same issue. I'd never been much of a pantser and had always leaned to more plotting tendencies, and thus reading upon and listening to a lot of storytelling theory and experimenting with a lot of techniques, I'm figuring out an outline to help me with the task. It's not rigid, it's arbitrary, it's constantly changing, and it helps me gain more insight into the stories I want to write, and helps me explore what all I could incorporate into them. And I thought this could be somewhat helpful for someone out there too (: So, I'm sharing the outline I used to write this story here, and... hope it helps!

Outline: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1l0Rc2EuvqCKDFnmw-Z6wv5yXSWdZTDa9aqVUS51F28o/edit?usp=sharing

*****

Shoutout

[cuz it feels like a wholesome thing to do (: Also, these will be some of Prose's best, so keep an eye on them (:]

The Evil Series by @Danceinsilence

The Evil Series by @Danceinsilence feels like an episodic thriller with its division into separate books and parts. Featuring a team of cops with the primary focus on a divorced female law enforcement officer and single mother (with the most adorable son), Janis Baker, this series really justifies its title throughout its course... Trust me, no matter how humane a person you think you are, you'd root for some of these characters to suffer the most-brutish-deaths possible... The evil is constantly on the rise and the saviors are on a never-ending effort to keep the streets clean. Sacrifices, serial killers, assassins-- An over-arching threat, loved ones to protect-- this series will not give you a break! Do check it out!

*****

Instagram: (Um, I'll edit that in later...)

True, she was new to our family and she has a strong position as my stepmom. But I have a strong intuition and her vibes were toxic. Yes, she was beautiful and soft spoken and my father loved her. But I could tell that her intentions were going left! I watched her from a distance. She never looked directly in my eyes. No, I didn't call her mom. One night she brought home something called Amsterdam. The name alone sounds like torture. In a joking way she convinced my father to give us each a little shot glass full. I don't drink, it affects me funny. My father begged for me to drink it to be social with her. So we did. When I woke up, i I was in my neighbors garage sore and tied to a chair. I saw a very blurry stepmom and my neighbor was about to perform what looked like surgery on me. I heard a noise that sounded like a drill for dentistry. Still blurry, I saw her lean forward at my arm. I felt a stinging pain that felt like a needle. I just knew I was doomed. I felt this pain for about five minutes. Terrible, terrible pain. The whole time I was wondering about my father did they torture and killed him first. My neighbor bandaged me up and untied my hands and body. My father walks out. I said, "What the fudge!" Suddenly, my stepmom removed the bandage. I looked at my arm. I saw a huge tattoo of my mother's face on my arm with the words "I will love you forever". My father said now she will always be around. I couldn't for the life of me understand their tactics but I gave them an "E" for effort. It was the best gift I could've ever received. I cried, then I smiled.

WARNING: raunchy and ridiculous comedy.

Wha—what the hell happened? Oww, my head. Hey! Wake up, Enigma! Oh God, what have you done now? And why do you smell so bad?!

“The fuck? I didn’t do anything! Owwwww… my body hurts like a bitch. Hey! Where am I? Hey?!”

No one answers. I can barely raise my voice because my mouth is so dry. I’m all alone. Well, almost. With my eyes starting to focus, I begin to look around…

“Umm, there is a giant asshole staring right at me… literally.”

Why are we in a barn?! And whose horse is that?!

“How the fuck could I know if YOU don’t?”

The horse’s reigns are tied to metal post in the center of a large, open animal stall—and for some unknown reason, I'm in here with him, laying on the floor. His tail swishes side to side and he begins to shift his ass even closer to me.

“Whoa there, Seabiscuit!”

I try to lift my body up but I can’t move. My wrists are tied behind my back to my ankles.

“What the hell… They hog-tied my ass?!”

Who are “they,” exactly?

“Again, if YOU don’t know… *sigh*. I’m just saying the general ‘they,’ okay?! The only thing I DO know is that me and Seabiscuit over here are both tied up.”

Great. Typical Enigma shenanigans.

“You’re one to judge!”

I can hear the noises of other horses around me. Ugh, the smell in here is worse than my headache. I look up and see a sign that says “Sick Bay 1”.

“What the fuck?! What did we do to end up being tied down in the Sick Bay? THIS IS HORSESHIT!”

Spoken like a true prophet…

“Oh… no… no, no, NO!”

I can’t scoot away in time to escape the shit-splash of the massive diarrhea-dump pouring out of the horse’s asshole, mere feet from my head. I feel the spray hit the back of my arm as I lean away.

“DUDE!!! Whyyyy?! You could shit literally ANYWHERE ELSE!”

Hey, he’s sick—be nice. Maybe you are, too? Well, I mean, you’re DEFINITELY a sick bastard, but maybe there’s a reasonable explanation for all this. Whatever the case, just stop yelling at the poor thing.

“YOU stop yelling!”

First of all, I am you, dumbass. Second, no else can hear me. Third, whatever you’ve done to get us in this mess, yelling at an innocent animal won’t help us get out of it. You’re gonna spook that horse if you don’t calm your ass down. Do I need to remind you of that girl who got kicked in the face by the horse? BAM! Take that memory from your childhood!

“Holy FUCK! Yeah, I remember that. You’re right.”

Of course I’m right. Now, what’s the plan?

Suddenly I’m distracted by Seabiscuit’s baby-arm-of-a-penis as it stares right at me with its evil-eye.

“Dear God…it’s so… big… and angry. Ugh! They should call you American Phallus (hah). That’s GOTTA be some kind of size record. Oh, the horror. The horror!”

Focus, Enigma! C’mon now, THINK. How did you end up in a horse stall?

“I MUST be trapped in a lucid nightmare and this HAS TO be one of my Sleep Paralysis episodes ‘Gone Wild’… literally. That’s why I can’t move. Yes! That’s it! This is all just a Sleep Paralysis nightmare!”

STOP IT. You can’t avoid your problems this time. This is REAL. You are REALLY tied up in a horse barn!

“FUCK! Fuckity fuck fuck FUCK! Okay. You’re right. FOCUS!”

I keep talking to myself out loud to stay alert. As I scan my foggy memory, I look down to see that I’m wearing my little black dress. I hear faint sounds of music in the distance. I can feel the spikes of my stilettos pressing into my sore ass chee—

“HOLD THE FUCK UP! Why is my ASS sore?! Wait! My dress! The music! The wedding! The FUCKING wedding!”

Yes! Mama’s wedding!

My mom had just married that no-good-son-of-bitch… Fucking Richard. We were having the reception at a fancy ranch owned by some millionaire cowboy. We were drinking and dancing, running through all the Shuffles ’n’ Slides. I brought it down, down, down with the Cupid Shuffle (which cued my flirtation with that SUPER HOT six-foot-five Mister I’d been eying all night). Then, I was killin’ the Cha-Cha Slide ’cause I Cha-Cha real smooth y’all. Fucking Richard was to my left when we all sliiide to the right—

“That’s it! It was Fucking Richard! He poked my ass with a needle!”

Ew!

“No! Literally!”

Eww!!!

“NO! Like, ACTUALLY literally! When I was looking the other way, he injected me with something!”

Oh. But still, gross.

“Yes, dude. Fuck this shit. I’m getting out of here. Whatever that sick fuck is up to, he won’t be for long. He’s always been such a prick… literally.”

Damnit! This is no time for puns! Concentrate!

“Ugh, but he’s such a motherfucker… literally.”

GROSS! Will you stop it with the fucking puns?!

“Just the fucking puns? Eh? Ehh?”

*brain silence*

“Sorry! He’s just… a huge asshole!”

Uh-oh…

“Oh no… no, no, NO! Not again!”

Another steaming pile of runny-shit from Seabiscuit’s giant ass plops next to me.

“I gotta get the FUCK out of here.”

No shit, Sherlock. C’mon, Enigma! Summon all those decades of ballet, MMA, and your BDSM shenanigans and un-fucking-pretzel yourself! Stop fuckin’ around!

“Fuuuuuuck! I’m trying! Argh-ugh!”

I wriggle my fingers around to feel the knot securing my ankles to my wrists.

“Wow, did this moron use a bowline knot? Clearly he thinks I’m some frail damsel in distress who can’t fend for herself. What does my mom even see in this douchebag?”

I use my spiked heel to hook the knot, and like a two-dollar-whore, I’m able to fist myself (hah) free from my ankles. I roll to my back, sit up, and shimmy my arms under my butt to bring my hands to the front of my body. I use my teeth to loosen the binds around my wrists enough to squeeze one hand free. I hurry to untie the rope around my ankles and kick it away.

“Yes! I did it! I knew all my shenanigans would come in handy someday! Just gotta get this rope off my other wrist.”

Do that later, moron. You’re still next to—

“Oh, no… not this time, Seebuttscat!”

I hurl myself away from the horse and take cover outside the wall of the stall.

Really? You’re gonna torture Seabiscuit with puns now? See-ButtScat?

“What?! That was clever.”

Maybe, a little. But this isn’t the time or place. Get the FUCK outta here! Look, the barn doors are wide open. GO!

I start walking toward the exit—

“Shit! Someone’s coming!”

I quickly hide behind the lip of the next stall over, hoping they haven’t heard me talking to myself in here over the loud music outside. Lucky for me, I’m once again trapped with another shit-squiring sick horse inside “Sick Bay 2”. Must’ve been a bad batch of hay. I watch Fucking Richard and some guy walking into those open doors at the opposite end of barn. He’s younger than the Dick, 40s maybe. They’re cackling like the cock-heads they are, but they won’t be laughing for long. I keep listening to try and make out their conversation…

“…and she really thinks I’m in love with her—hah! What an idiot! Let’s hurry up and handle the daughter. Everything is in place now that I’m the lawfully wedded husband, and that ‘Little’ Enigma is the only thing left standing in the way of our payday. ‘Little’ my ass, the big bitch was heavy!”

Doc? That’s certainly not OUR doc. Who the fuck is this guy?

“Yeah, and it’s ‘Lil’ damnit, not ‘Little’. I can’t help it if I’m a bloodline Viking! As if tall and muscular is SO bad—he’s just jealous ’cause he’s short and fat! *pout*. Hasn’t he ever heard of a nickname before?! *growl*.”

Really? THAT’S what you’re worried about? *brain sigh* Yes, you’re a gorgeous Viking Princess… who also glows in the dark. You’re like a fucking neon sign that says, “I’m right here, guys!” Now SHUT UP and STAY LOW before they catch your big ass!

“Did you bring all the tools, Doc?”

Tools?

“Yup, everything’s in the bag. This isn’t my first rodeo, Richard.”

Doc is carrying a large black duffel bag, and I can hear the clinking of metal inside.

“These bastards are gonna KILL my ass!”

Shh! You CAN talk to me with your inside-head-voice, ya’know!

“Right! You’re so smart!”

Duh. I’m a brain. You’d be dead by now without me. YES, LITERALLY. Pay attention!

“How much does a set of Type-O kidneys go for on the Black Market these days, Doc?”

Just then, I notice the already prepared electric lift off to the side, covered in a plastic sheet. Along the wall I see massive gloves, rolled up plastic tarps, and funnel-shaped containers.

“This cock-hole is gonna kill me for my organs… in a breeding barn?! What in the Dexter is this shit? How did he even know I’m a universal donor?! And was he planning on using an ANIMAL DOCTOR on me?! What the actual FUCK is going on?!”

Shh! Listen!

“Look Richard, I already told you what your cut of the deal is for every viable organ. No more haggling.”

“I always knew he was a no-good-son-of-a-bitch!”

“Hah! Me? Haggling? Nah… Just making conversation, Doc! And don’t you worry, I already convinced the wife to get that MILLION DOLLAR Life Insurance Policy for us BOTH to keep the cops off my ass. I’ll be selling that old bat’s house and land the second she’s dead, too. As the grieving husband, ‘I just can’t bring myself to live where my beloved wife died.’ Haha! A little accidental overdose on her meds will do the trick. So uh… just let your boss know I’ll pay off my debt, in full, real soon… o-okay?”

“Oh HELL no! NO ONE hurts Mama. The Enigmas ain’t nuthing ta fuck wit! I’m gonna open a can of Wu-Tang whoopass on these cocksuckers!”

Be serious! They are two strong MEN! We are running out of time! What are you gonna do?

“You are right brain… time for some creativity… don’t you think? Eh? Ehh?”

I swear, I will checkout and leave you comatose RIGHT NOW, Enigma!

“Okay! Sorry! Jeez, no need to go all bat-shit crazy on my ass—wait! That’s it!”

*brain gasp* Brilliant.

“It’s time to get this shit together…”

Don’t…

“Literally.”

For the love of God!

I kick off my stilettos, undo the rest of the rope from my wrist and wrap it tightly around both palms, leaving a few inches of loose rope between my fists. I gather up a huge, disgusting pile of goopy horseshit in my hands (a nasty number two, courtesy of Seabiscuit No. 2). I slip back into the lip of the stall and wait silently for these limp-dicks to pass right by me. Doc is the younger and taller of the two, clearly he’ll be strong, so I need to take him out first. And Fucking Richard doesn’t deserve a quick death. He’s gonna get the Enigma Special tonight.

“C’mon, Richard, I’ve got other appointments—enough with the chit-chat. Let’s get this bitch taken care of already.”

“Who does he think he’s calling bitch?”

Fucking Richard takes off his tuxedo jacket and unbuttons his shirt, while Doc bends down to place the heavy duffel bag on the floor and begins rummaging through the tools.

“Yeah, I left her right over here-uh… wait… OH NO! DOC! BEHIND Y—“

I sprint toward them at full speed and Haduken! the heap of shit right into Fucking Richard’s dumb face, sending him blindly scurrying and choking on dung. In the same motion, I jump onto Doc’s back and hoop my shit-covered fists over his head and around his throat. I lock my forearms tightly into the base of his neck to take him down in a Flying Rear Naked Choke. With my feet locked around his waist and my rope-reinforced grip around his neck, there is absolutely nothing he can do.

“Hey Dr. Doom! Here comes the BOOM! You’re MY bitch, now! And if you really are a doctor, then you know I’ve got ALL your jugular and carotid vessels on-lock. You’ve got about 3 more seconds. Night night! Keep your butthole tight!”

The threat on his delicate little bootyhole gives the doc one last burst of energy. He flails and tries to punch me as his knees hit the ground, falling unconscious before face-planting onto the hay covered floor. I quickly unravel the rope from my hands and use it to tightly tie his neck off. With the remaining length, I securely tie him to the stall post to finish the job (shenanigans FTW). His brain won’t receive another drop of blood again, and unfortunately, a peaceful death will have to due for the doc.

“Guess you lucked out on the butt-stuff, Doc. Wish I could stay and party, but now I’ve got a huge Dick to handle.”

Ew! Just go get that jerk before he recovers! Hurry!

“Fucking Richard. You old dirty bastard! How did I know you were a worthless piece of shit all along? Sorry, what’s that? Can’t hear you, ass-goblin! Sounds like you’ve got some shit caught in your throat… literally!

You don’t have to say it when it’s that obvious.

“May I continue here? It’s not like we’ve been waiting my whole life for this opportunity or anything.”

Carry on.

“I mean, marrying my mom to take all her hard-earned assets was to be expected, and you WILL pay for breaking the heart of a true angel… but to kill me for my very valuable organs?! Even I have to hand it to you there... THAT was creative—as if it was my own sick idea! But, I’m not here to break walls (*winks at the camera* ;) I’m here to break your life. You fucked with the WRONG family!”

Yeah, motherfucker!

“Not anymore he’s not.”

“Little Enigma, please. *cough* Have mercy! You always say that we’re all just human! I have a *cough* I have a sickness! A disease! I can’t help my gambling addiction!”

Is he really pulling the sympathy card? Fucking—

“Richard, you’re right. You DO have a sickness…”

I put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

“…But any horse doctor can tell you—well, maybe not the dead one over there—but any OTHER horse doctor can tell you, that when one horse has an incurable disease, the whole herd suffers. The only thing you can do… IS PUT IT DOWN!”

As he’s hunched over, still choking on shit, I pull his shirt over his head like a hockey player about to get his ass kicked. Once in my grip, I summon my inner Chun-Li and swiftly and relentlessly kick him in the dick, over and over, utilizing the most vicious Lightning Kick known to man—the Hyakuretsukyaku (the Hundred Rending Legs). Then, just as he’s about to fall forward from dick-death, I use my knee to Shoryuken! uppercut him in the face, which sends him flying back onto the tarp-covered animal lift.

As he squirms, I rush to grab my Stilettos and the rest of the rope he used to tie me up with. I tie both of Fucking Richard’s wrists to the horizontal bar over his head. He just lays there on his back, sprawled out on the surface of the lift, writhing in pain and crying like a defeated toddler who’s thrown himself on the floor. I look around for more rope to secure his legs…

“Oh-ho-ho… horse hobbles… BINGO.”

You wouldn’t.

“Oh, but I would.”

I look down the line at two horses in particular at the front end of the barn.

“And they DEFINITELY wood.”

*brain silence*

“Hey, don’t act like you’re some innocent bystander. You’re the one behind all this madness. You’re MY fucking brain!”

*brain silence*

“Well?!”

FINISH HIM!!!

“That’s the FUCK I’m talkin’ about… LITERALLY!”

Yeah! Fuck him! You don’t hurt the innocent! And poor Mama, she’s so pure of heart. *brain cry*

“Shit! Mama! What am I gonna tell her?”

She can’t know any of this. It’ll destroy her. He has to die in some freak accident so she never knows the truth. It’s better to lose love than to be betrayed. Check the doctor’s bag!

“Good idea.”

I find rib crackers, scalpels, horse tranquilizers (probably what they used to knock me out). Thank God for shenanigans and a high tolerance. I keep looking to find plastic bags, surgical scissors, and…

“BINGO.”

Heroin? And will you STOP saying bingo, already? We don’t need anymore repetitive one-liners. So, this asshole was a drug dealer, too? I’m glad you killed that fucker.

“Same. Okay, I’ve got the murder weapon in the bag for Fucking Richard’s accidental suicide. Finding out your husband was a struggling heroin addict won’t seem all that bad once she’s got a MILLION DOLLARS from his failed Life Insurance scheme. All that cash will help the wife and ‘grieving stepdaughter’ move on somewhere far away from this cowboy country shit-hole. Best Uno Reverse Card in history. Let’s do this.”

I grab one of my Stilettos and put the spike into Fucking Richard’s dick.

“If you move, I will hop onto this table and use these sharp heels to stomp your dick RIGHT OFF! Understand me?!”

Fucking Richard cries out in compliance as I quickly undo his pants with shenanigan-expertise. I yank his slacks completely off and get a huge whiff of his nasty old man cologne. Instant stank-face!

Eww! Does he spray it down his pants?! Yuck. Who does that?

“Gross dudes with cheese-dicks do that.”

*brain barf*

“Wha-what are you doing? Oh, please! Please don’t hurt my dick anymore! OH GOD! Not my dick! PLEASE!!! Not my d-i-i-i-ck!!!”

Men. It’s always about the dick. I swear, they must love dick more than women by how much they always talk about it.

“Fucking Richard! Calm your tits, man! If you comply, I’m not gonna hurt your chia-chode anymore. You’ll be doing ME the favor. Just shut up and do as you’re told. But, uh... by the looks of that little baby-dick, all the swelling is doing you some good! Hah!”

I secure his ankles into the horse hobbles and use the rope to connect them to the horizontal bar above the back of the lift. And with an easy tug of the simple pulley, Fucking Richard’s feet are forced over his head up to his tied wrists.

“Touch your toes, bitch.”

“AHHHHH!!!!!”

Save your screams for later, buddy.

“Come one, come all! The Pink Starfish is open for business, boys! Half price on all Pink Lady Cocktails tonight!”

We are going to hell.

“WHAT?! You sick bitch! You sick fucking bitch! You wouldn’t dare! Untie me, you cunt! Just you wait until I get out of here! I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!!!”

Pffft… he’s making this too easy. Like, who didn’t figure this out already? Oh boy, should we tell ’em?

“FUCKING *clap* RICHARD *clap*!”

Ohp, here she goes.

“Don’t you get it?! Not only will you be pinned for the doc’s murder, YOU won’t be fucking OR fucking over another woman EVER *clap* AGAIN *clap*! In fact, once I slide these heels back on (that you ruined by the way), and sashay my sexy ass out of here to rejoin the party… YOU WILL BE THE ONLY BITCH LEFT IN HERE! And uh, if you haven’t noticed… those two studs going ape-shit all the way down at the front of the barn… they’re primed and ready to mate. Wanna know how I know that? Because those two have been losing their raging, hormone-fueled FUCKING MINDS ;) over your stinky ass cologne ever since you walked in here! They think YOU are their mare… their BITCH. You’ll fucking kill me?! Oh no, no, no waffle-dick…”

I lean down right next to his face and start off with a whisper…

“Cock O’ War and Butt Admiral over there are gonna FUCKING KILL YOU... LITERALLY!”

He flinches from my war-cry right into his ear. I stand up straight and start tracing my finger from his ankle all the way down to his exposed rump.

“If you fuck with The Enigmas, WE FUCK BACK!”

I slap his ass cheek so hard that it leaves a perfect, pink handprint. Too fitting as he cries out like a bad little girl.

Jesus, Enigma. Are you SURE this is how it’s gonna end?

“You know what…”

What? What?! Stop with the dramatics!

“I’ve changed my mind.”

*brain shock*

“YOU HAVE?! Oh thank GOD! Thank YOU, Little Enigma! Thank youuuu-oo-oo-oooo!”

I reach over Fucking Richard’s head…

*brain gasp*

….and push the “UP” button on the animal lift.

“Don’t want the horses to get a back ache from having to bend over too far. I hear standing and thrusting your hips is SUCH hard work *rolls eyes*. There we go, that should do it. Oh… and it’s ‘Lil’ Enigma, ass-cheese ;) .”

Fucking Richard continues to berate me, but it all just fades to background noise. I hear the music off in the distance and I’m reminded of my poor Mama. She’s gonna be devastated for a while. But, for tonight, I’m gonna show her the time of her life. I use a bucket to scoop some water from a horse trough to wash myself off and casually wipe my hands clean on his white undershirt. I slip on my heels, dust off my little black dress, and grab the heroin out of the duffel bag for safe keeping in my bra. Wouldn’t want an innocent animal accidentally hurting itself on this nasty shit. I also find a fresh pack of cigarettes and a chrome Zippo.

“Ah, menthols. Nice job, Doc!”

I give the dead doc a nod as I pack the cigarettes on the wall above his head. I flip the Zippo and spark the flame in one, swift motion (as badasses do), and light my well deserved cigarette. I notice the single red rose that fell out of Fucking Richard’s tuxedo jacket. I pick it up from the floor and stick it behind my ear.

“Perfect. I’ll be back to clean up after I enjoy the rest of your wedding reception, sweet-cheeks.”

Damn right. Fucking Richard interrupted our Cha-Cha Slide. Hopefully that sexy six-foot-five Mister is still there. We deserve a prize for this shit.

“Oh, you can count on it. I’m gonna ride him for the Triple Crown ;) .”

I’ll give you that one. Let’s go.

“Night night! Keep your butthole ti—“

You already used that one.

“Shit. Fuck it. Enjoy your ruptured colon, bitch!”

Well, that wasn’t funny.

“Can’t win ’em all, I guess.”

I begin my promised strut down the catwalk—cigarette in hand, winning rose in hair, Cha-Cha-ing real smooth back to the party. I lift the locks on the last two horse stalls as I exit the barn. I swear, I can almost hear Fucking Richard’s asshole pucker as they kick open the doors behind me.

“And they’re OFF!”

Go horsies, go!

“AHH! HELP ME YOU BITCH! NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

FATALITY!!!

“Fucking Richard…”

Literally!

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THE KENTUCKY DIRTY

A “Those Damn Enigmas” Production

Special Thanks to the following legendary racehorses: Seabiscuit, American Pharaoh, Man O’ War, and War Admiral. Your talent was no joke.

Honorable Mentions: Dexter, Street Fighter, Mortal Kombat, and Wu-Tang Clan. Your badassery is unmatched.

Songs Quoted: “Cupid Shuffle”, “Casper Cha-Cha Slide”, and “Wu-Tang Clan Ain’t Nuthing ta Fuck Wit”

No animals (or men) were harmed writing this story.

All rights reserved blah blah blah.

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“FREEZE!”

*brain fart*

“Hah! Just kidding. Just my finger gun. You’re the daughter, right? Where’d you go? Been looking for you all night. I, uh… I thought we had a connection on the dance floor earlier…”

I look up at the biggest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. The hot six-foot-five Mister is even bigger and more gorgeous up close. But my racing heart stops as I look down to see his real gun and badge on his belt.

“Oh. You really are a cop? So you’re a badass on top of being the hottest guy here *bites lip*.”

Run! *brain panic*

“Shut up, brain! He’s a total nerd. And hot as fuck. I got this.”

No, YOU shut up! You’re gonna get caught! Ughhh I’m spiraling! This isn’t happening!

“Ahem… Detective, actually. But I’m off duty now. So, what are you up to out here? Man this is some ranch, huh? Oh cool, looks like there’s a barn over there.”

Do I need to remind you about what’s in your bra?! Or maybe the assASSination happening in the barn as we speak?! Oh, God. What are you doing to me, Enigma?! Now I’M speaking in puns!

“Ohhh you know… just the everyday, normal shenanigans *giggle*. Hey—”

“Is for horses! Hah! Sorry, I’m full of dad jokes.”

God hates me. This is my hell.

“Well, God clearly still loves ME ’cause he’s PERFECT and I'm in heaven!”

*brain cringe*

“So, you were saying? About the dance floor? *bites lip again*.”

I make the first move by grabbing his giant hand to lead him back inside to the reception.

“Maybe we could pick up where we left off? The party’s still hoppin’, you’re looking all kinds of fun, and there’s this song I want to request from the DJ. Something about ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’…”

Is your head getting smaller? Why is it so tight in here?! Is this what brain death feels like?

“Well, I don’t have any mushrooms on me, but I’m known to be a real fungi! I’m surprised a pretty little lady such as yourself would enjoy a dirty song like that.”

Yup! This is FOR SURE the end. Goodbye cruel world!

“Well, I’ve been known to get a little ‘Kentucky Dirty’ every now and then… (*winks at the camera*;).”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Scattered images in the purgatory between dream and consciousness pierced my aching head as I awoke, sore and disoriented. Cow shit like smelling salts bringing me back to the land of the living.

I looked around at the wide open enclosure of what looked to be a barn. Hay piled to the rusted steel roof on all four sides. Old John Deere tractors that looked as though they hadn’t been touched in decades sitting between two old dirty work stations with saws, screwdrivers, and nails sprawled like the after-effect of a mid-west tornado.

“Where the fuck am I?” I thought. “Jesus, what happened?”

The images were still like white noise coming from a TV with barely any reception. The figures were there. So were movements. But the details weren’t clear. Christ, my head was splitting. I got up and walked like a 3 a.m drunk after being thrown out of a bar, all the way to the two large barn doors. I pushed on them. Nothing. There was a small split where sunlight creeped in. I could see what looked to be a chain on the outside. That would explain it.

Panic was sitting in my chest. I slid down the barn door and sat on the ground, trying to slow my racing heart. Trying to remember. Trying to solve the mental puzzle. With my hands in front of my eyes. My eyes closed tight, concentrating deep on my thoughts. The images began to clear like the calming of rippling water.

Me and Jack Langley sitting in his Buick, parked in the tall grass in front of the Geary’s mansion on Roseberry Hill. Both of us with ski masks on. Both of us laughing, smoking cigarettes, thinking that it was too easy. Too goddamn simple to break into this house, steal whatever valuables they had and skip town. Too good to be true. Then I remembered what my father said before the cancer took him. That when things seemed too good to be true, it’s probably because they were.

We walked out into the cool evening air, with a brilliant orange flame setting over the western hilltops of Annandale. With a rag wrapped tightly around my wrist, I broke the glass above the doorknob, reached in and unlocked it from the other side.

Inside, the house was quiet. Dark and still. Then I remembered a gunshot ringing through the graveyard silence, sounding as loud as artillery rounds deep in the jungles of Quang Tri. I turned around and saw blood trickle down Jack’s head like a scarlet constrictor before he fell back down the stairs.

Then there was the fat man. 300 pounds if he was a pound, putting my head in the crook of his arm. A head that he could have popped like a cork had he wanted to, but instead, he put a needle in my arm and dragged me off to a shiny black corvette, where he threw me in the back like a rag doll.

There was another image, like a word on the tip of a tongue. It was there, but not there. Close, yet a thousand miles away. A face. A face at the window of the car, as my consciousness slipped into the ether. My head leaned against the window, and I saw a face. His face. Yes. His face.

It was my mother’s shit head husband. Frankie Laroque. He was screaming something. His hands behind his back, before he was thrown into another car. Christ, I thought. Where was Frankie? What happened to him?

Frankie, the greasy fucking bartender at The Dollar who got my mother to elope and marry him in Vegas while high as a kite on methamphetamines. Good choice, mah. You got yourself a real stand-up guy. A real father figure.

He was screaming, “Hurt him! Hurt him! Or was it, don’t hurt him?” I don’t know.

Then I heard a rattle behind me. Someone was unlocking the chain. The door opened and Frankie was thrown to the ground. Soft ridiculing laughter could be heard before the door closed, and the chain, again, locked. The sun too bright to see any faces. Just sharp dressed shadows.

Frankie’s hands were tied behind his back, and his face was worse for wear. Like a fucking steamroller had run over it. His left eye was swollen shut, a plethora of purples and greens, and blacks swirling like a vortex. Dried blood stained his ears, nose, and lips. He was crying. “I’m sorry, Jamie. I’m so sorry. Jesus, I’m stupid. I’m so goddamned stupid.”

“What, Frank? What the hell is going on here?”

“I-I-I,” He stuttered. “I-I sold you out. Okay? I sold you out, and now we’re fucked!”

“What are you talking about, Frank? What the hell did you do?”

He was crying like a baby. This big grown man. 6 foot 3, 220 lbs, weeping like a teething newborn.

“What did you do, Frank? Tell me what you did?” I grabbed him by the scruff of his wife beater and picked him up to his feet. He wouldn’t look at me. He stared at the straw and the shit on the ground. “Look at me, Frank. LOOK AT ME!”

Finally, he listened. But his eyes took the anger right out of me. Like a punch to the gut, I knew he was telling the truth. I didn’t know what he did, but we weren’t getting out of this barn. I let him go. “I-I-I’m sorry, Jamie. They swore they wouldn’t hurt you. They swore they wouldn’t hurt me if I told em who’d been, ya know, ripping them off.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Kid. Your head’s so far up your ass, you can’t see that you ain’t as smart as you think. Young punks and their God complex”

“What? What are you talking about, Frank? Speak English.”

“You were stealing from the wrong people, son. And having your drug riddled fucking mom as your confidante wasn’t exactly an Einstein move, was it?”

He stopped for a second, then continued.

“Look kid. I was in trouble. Big trouble. Debt that I couldn’t repay in ten lifetimes that was gathering interest by the day. Your mom told me one night that you were stealing money from the same guys, and I saw an opportunity man. I saw an opportunity to give them information. To provide them with something.”

“Oh. Jesus. Oh Christ. We’re dead.”

“They swore they wouldn’t hurt you, Jamie. They’d just ask for the money back, that’s all. They might rough you up a little, but not this. And they told me my slate would be wiped clean. I’d be free. I’d be good.”

I looked at Frankie, and then the chain rattled again. The door swung open. I didn’t even look up. I just stared at the shit and dirt on the ground, knowing full-well that I’d be sleeping underneath it soon.

“Way to go, mah. You picked a real stand-up guy”

The world around me comes into view, but I must still be dreaming. My floral print comforter replaced by…hay? That can’t be right. Except it is. I close my eyes shut and open them again slowly, still here. I can remember strong hands wrapping around me and throwing me, hard. A piece of cloth covering my eyes and a pinch in my arm, they must have injected me with something. But who’s they. Regardless, I seem to be alone now so time to get my bearings. Mental check, my arms and legs are very bruised and there’s a crick in my neck, but nothing seems broken. Ok, good. Then the panic sets in…my mom.

We had just finished dinner at this small Italian restaurant near the house and were walking home. Me, my mom, and Richard, my stepdad. Stepdad seems odd since they’ve only been married about two weeks, but they had been dating about a year and it was expected. Just then, my stomach drops and the world around me feels blurry. I can recall Richard walking towards me when I was grabbed and thrown into a car. An SUV. A black SUV. I try to remember the little details keeping my mind on when I get home, hopeful that they can be used later to find the people responsible. I remember screaming help to him before one of the hands was covering my mouth, but he didn’t help. At first I was scared that he would also be grabbed, I mean who were these people? But he wasn’t grabbed. In fact, he was calm. If I’m not mistaken I think I remember a smirk.

But I must be remembering wrong. Richard works in finance, or insurance…or…banking, honestly I never paid too close attention, but he had a boring job. Definitely not someone that would have access to… thugs. It’s seriously the only word I can think of, and I know it sounds ridiculous, like I’m in some old-timey crime movie, but the point stands. Richard is a 9-5, suit wearing, family man with IBS. There’s no way he’s responsible for this. Whatever this is. Yet the image of him walking towards me with that creepy look on his face stays plastered in my mind.

I try to stand, slowly. Despite my many bruises, I manage to get to my feet and move around pretty easily. I think about the first time I tried to ski. I was with my friend Matt who had been going forever and I may have smudged the truth about my skiing knowledge. Long story short I rolled all the way down the mountain and was bruised from my chest down. When I hopped right up the instructor at the bottom had warned me that although it doesn’t hurt now, it will tomorrow. As I look down at my black and blue arms I know tomorrow will bring much more pain. It’s weird what you think about when you’re in traumatic situations.

I look around. There’s a rake-looking tool and some wooden stick up against the wall, and hay, lots of hay. A barn? I don’t know if I’ve ever actually been in a barn. Maybe when I was little and mom took me to some sort of pumpkin patch. Mom. I try to remember where she was when we walked outside, she must have been right next to me, right? Did someone grab her? I feel sick.

I’m on the verge of hyperventilating when I hear a moan coming from outside. A horse, or a pig? I truly know nothing about barn life. The moan again. This time it’s more distinct, a woman. Mom! I run outside. She’s lying on her side and there’s a nasty gash in her forehead. I drop down next to her. “He lied.” Suddenly I can’t find words, but apparently she can. “He said that we would never be involved, but he lied.” I swallow. “Richard? Involved in what?” There’s tears in her eyes, but she doesn’t let them fall. “I got us away. We should be safe here for now, but they’re going to come looking for us." Who, who is coming! I want to shout, but she is drifting back to sleep. I have no idea what's going on and my mom is in some sort of psychotic daze. There's a house next to the barn and I see a light on inside. On one hand I could be walking to doom, but on the other, if I don't get her a cold rag or some water soon...I walk up the porch steps and knock on the door.

The world is a watercolor spill of bleeding oranges and reds. It reminds me of groggy balmy afternoons in the backseat of our Ford, eyes closed, distant soft chatter, sun in my eyes, cheek burning on the hot window. Except, my eyes are open and my lashes are brushing on cheap cloth. My back aches on gritty concrete. Am I being kidnapped? Sold? Killed? I need to breathe. I let gulps of dusty cool air fill my burning insides. A timid set of thuds surround me till I feel hot breath and something soft and wet under my right eye, viscous liquid spills down my face. I can feel my insides madly battling the air, begging to leave in screams. I begin to thrash against soft binds. Breathe. I can smell the manure, faint copper, and dead grass. I still, as if it would help me smell better, escape better; that's when I smell the faraway scent of overripe cherries and old cigarettes. It was Marilynn's signature scent. She was a sweet nurse far younger than Dad who had just married him three weeks ago- though I wasn't close enough to call her mom, a pact of respect silently stood between us. The memory of her sets off a technicolor hit of dizzy recollections; the Ford, a needle, a quiet moon, shouts, cold fingers on my wrist, and Marilynn wrapping rope on my ankles. As the current situation sinks in, shock, confusion, and horror swims in my head. What the hell are Marilynn's intentions? Where is Dad? Was I wrong about her? Was I about to die? My panicked flurry is interrupted by a needle's prick at my inner elbow. I try to scream, to kick, to flip out in protest- but I'm frozen. Familiar cold fingers slowly untie my blindfold, and the previous orangey-red blur turns into the blinding white sun framed by a barns door. At the center of the light is Marilynn. I can barely recognize her, there is worry painting her face and desperation gripping the corners of her eyes. This was not the face of a criminal. Guilt begins to pool at my belly, perhaps the memories were delusions, perhaps I had misjudged her far too quickly. "Baby, I'm so sorry", her eyes shift downwards. I need to move, to do something, say something, but I stand as a spectator in a body that now feels barely my own. "You're just so perfect, I need you", a heavy breath leaves her mouth, and there's an erratic wildness to her movements. Her eyes dart to the cows who roam in the periphery- absolutely oblivious to my world falling in total disarray. "They- the cows aren't enough, I need your sweetness, your soul. You know... I married Steven just for you." My mind is beginning to fog, was it the confusion or maybe the needle? Marilynn slowly brings up two fingers to the side of my neck, and a whisper escapes her, "Your sweet blood". The previous guilt has been replaced with horror, what nightmare had I arrived in? "I don't want to do this, but you don't want me to die, do you honey, I need you!" The edges of the light are going black, and she throws something to the right of me. She's holding a bottle of mouthwash-she swigs from it violently, "Trust me, it doesn't get any easier every week, I don't want to do this." The world is black. I'm too weak to feel anything. The screams in my throat have died. Hot air spills on the right of my neck, "You won't remember this baby, I'll patch you up perfectly", Marilynn whispers, as if to convince herself. With the piercing puncture of teeth into my flesh, and the assaulting smell of metal- my senses disappear. I'm gone.

I came to suddenly, the blackness seeping away from my vision as adrenaline started to race through my veins. My hands were bound behind my back, handcuffs digging into my wrists, but the pain barely even registered past the panic. I couldn’t move from where I sat, bound to the pole at my back with a light shining directly down on me. Everything outside the ring of light was lost to the darkness.

The air was thick with the smells of hay and manure. Cicadas chirped beyond the walls in the still night air and I heard the gentle scuffing of someone, or something, moving not far away.

I heard large doors open somewhere behind me before they swung shut yet again. Heavy footsteps came ever closer until they stood before me.

It was Ryan, my new stepdad. He’d married my mother nearly a month ago, but I didn’t really know him very well. He was a tall man, with salt and pepper hair and average build. He liked to laugh and overall seemed friendly, which was a pleasant surprise. I was told he was an attorney, but at this moment I wasn’t entirely sure which side of the law he was on. He looked down at me with calm, knowing eyes and a solemn expression.

“Ryan?” I asked in disbelief, “What’s going on?”

He shrugged, so slight a motion that I nearly missed it entirely.

“This isn’t how I wanted to do this, but you gave me no choice when you walked in on me and Vanessa. I couldn’t have you spoiling things, so I had to resort to…extreme measures.”

His words brought back a fuzzy memory. I’d come home early and walked in on Ryan talking with a young woman I’d never seen before. I remember being outraged, thinking he was cheating on my mother already. Before I’d been able to say anything, I’d felt a sharp pain in my neck, and everything had gone black. Had he drugged me? Was he going to kill me to keep his dirty little secret? Where was my mom?

“Where’s my mom?” I asked, my mind locking on the singular question.

“Your mother is around here somewhere. I’m sure you’ll see her soon.”

A knowing smile touched Ryan’s features as he made a ‘come here’ motion at the shadows behind me. It only took a second for another figure to appear, a tall, blonde woman in a police uniform. My heart sank into my stomach at the sight of her. Presented with a lawyer and an officer in this old barn, likely in the middle of nowhere…what on earth were they going to do to me?

“Do you know why you’re here, Jacob?” the woman asked sternly, her gaze locking on my own and holding steady. I shook my head, a cold sweat breaking out on my palms. What did they find?

She made an unhappy sound, frowning slightly, and bent to my level, her eyes still locked on my own.

“I’ve heard things about you, Mr. Reeves,” she said slowly as an unseen figure behind me unlocked my cuffs, “I’ve heard you have the uncanny ability to get yourself into lots of trouble. That you are a naughty boy.”

The purr at her last words made me freeze, uncertain. My brow furrowed as somewhere in the area, music began to play.

“SURPRISE!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY JAKE!!”

People swarmed in from every direction. All of them friends and coworkers I was close with. It seemed, in everything going on, I had completely forgotten about my own 21st birthday. My stepfather winked at me conspiratorially as the officer began to strip. I lost him in the crowd shortly thereafter.

The party was a blast, going on late into the night, but nothing would top the relief I had felt when I realized they hadn’t found the bodies.

From my peep hole in Mamma's belly button I could see the ocean of light within a dark circular surround. I'd like to think she has her bikini on and we're going to the beach. The one with the hillside and the swings and the thrilling slide. I love the homey sound of the water, the sifting gold of the sand, the windblown seagulls... Through this periscopic lens I can catch glimpses, every day, of my future, that which I am destined to forget. It usually happens at dawn and at twilight. The curtain lifts, and my peak into the outside involves mostly a view to and from the bed. It's dim and quiet, much like the womb I'm in. Except when we go into the water! Then my little room becomes an apartment. But today is different. The pattern is off. this is not the locker room. There's a man all dressed up in white. Ugh I hope that's not Dadda.  I'm starting to feel really lightheaded. It's scalding bright, and I hear clicking noises to the left and right, some clanking, and a persistent monotoned dialogue of voices I don't recognize. Whatever's coming through the placenta tastes bitter and I'm getting drowsy. I'm going to take a nap. Then I think I'll practice swimming again with Mamma when she gets up.

05.31.2023

Newly married Mother & Significant Other Barn Burning CotW CCXXVI

@Prose (Thanks Amanda B. Jaworski for the Challenge Prompt!)

A bright but distant light seeps through the cracks of the wooden barn. I look around,my thoughts oscillating between my new mother-in-law's betrayal and whether it's possible for a barn to have no tools at all and smell of nothing but wood.

Mother-in-laws typically either play nice or standoffish with their new daughter-in-laws and barns tyipcally have a "barnyard" smell,you know,cow dung and chicken poop and horse piss if the area is not being used as a tool shed. Neither of these have been true in this case,it's weird,too weird.

Even this hay I'm laying on is weird. As I try to get off the floor,I find myself slithering desperately like an earthworm. My movements start exposing cement beneath the sparsely placed hay. What the actual hell is going on here? Where is my dad?

I feel tears cloud my gaze for the first time since the ordeal. Imagine being kidnapped in a parking lot on your way to your friend's house after the little dinner families after a wedding,not to mention the fact that one of the newly weds is in on it. It's a crazy betrayal. I did fight as hard as I could,I did scream too. Someone heard me,surely,someone heard me. There's not need to cry I'll be okay,my dad is on his way right now and-...

Just then the barn begins to creak loudly and falls apart before my very eyes. It opens outwards like a box and there I am,a silk worm on some hay in on a stage!

How could she do this to me? What is happening and is my dad going through the same thing?

I'm finally able to sit up (thanks to the fear coursing once again through my veins) and realise that the bright light I've been seeing came from a stage light. There are cameras in all corners,hungrily lurking around me as they move on their cranes like hawks ready to pounce on my ignorance. What is happening here? Where is my dad?

I stare at the audience through sharp,white stage light. I can't make out faces at first, then my eyes begin to settle and I see her.

There she is. Wendy is in the front row and stands,then begins to clap. More and more smartly dressed individuals follow her and clap,some even whistle and shout. I feel tears stream and look away in humiliation and confusion. Why are they laughing and clapping and cheering and whistling with her? She's the bad guy. She and her friends kidnapped me.

I turn back and start to feel the betrayal deepen as I see more familiar faces. There is Uncle Matthew who is Wendy's brother, and that old bat,Linda,who is her mother. I never cared for her family much,especially Linda who thought anybody who couldn't afford Armani was a peasant or worse,her personal jester.

They were the stuck-up-country-club bunch fitted with those jumpers disgustingly rich people tie around their necks. I never cared for them but now,for the first time as Wendy got out of her place and made her way to the stage,I hate to say that I do3 care. They are the only people I can confidently say I know and here they are,cackling at my expense.

If my dad had not met this woman who now appeared with a mic,ready to address her posh crowd,I would not have been here. Where was he? Where is my dad?

"Where is my dad you cow? Where is my dad? How dare you kidnap me? Where is he?",I try to shout in her direction but it comes out as the whiny pleadings of a child. These questioning pleads fall on deaf ears and she continues to stare at her audience.

"Ladies and gentlemen,boys and girls...",she says into the mic with that annoying giddiness she has had from the very first day I met her, "Presenting,the latest and greatest most bestest thingiest thing I have ever laid my eyes on...",she bellows (in that excitement she has when one of her stupid inventions works) and points behind me, I have to turn. I have turn to see what this psychotic lady is going on about.

Why did I turn back? Why did I turn back? Fresh tears sting my eyes and the scratches on my face as they fall on their own.

"...my beautiful husband",Wendy says with a thrill in her voice that seems to cut me from the inside as I lay my eyes on my father. There he is,big and towering over me as he always has but he gleams as he has never gleamed before, "I spent the night at Wendy's house,I spent the night at Wendy's house,I spent the night at Wendy's house...",he keeps repeating in the coldest tone I had ever heard escape his now part-machine lips. What is happening? What the actual hell is happening?!

Damn, I'm sore. At least I'm not sticky, broke AND confused, as the Diceman once said. Two out of three ain't bad, as Meatloaf said. At least not as bad as it could have been.

Where the hell am I? I look around in the twilight haze that surrounds me. The smell of hay and manure threatens to induce a sneeze, if not a gag. Nausea overcomes me as I try to orient myself.

A buzzing dominates my ears, but I cannot tell if the origin is within or without my head. I wonder if it even really matters. Immediately I feel I am alone, but I can sense others around me. I am not sure exactly how I do, but a presence -- nay, several presences -- make themselves known nearby.

A cold, wet against my bare arm causes me to recoil in reflex. A bleat follows. whew! Just a lamb. Nothing but a lamb.

Better than a lion.

More bleats answer the initial one. A cacophony of wool. I impress myself with the phrasing. What a metaphor.

My eyes eventually adjust to the dim light. I am not precisely sure where I am, but in the general sense I get it. I am in a barn.

The question is, whose?

Did she follow the directions as I had given them? Was I right in trusting her? Come to think of it, was I right in trusting myself?

A chuckle erupted from my lips, and the lamb nuzzled against me a second time. "Sorry," I said. "I don't have a treat for you."

Still, I scratched it behind the ear. It stood still in appreciation of the attention. I got it. I might do the same, depending on who was doing the scratching. If it was Gina, then definitely.

I attempted to stand up, but vertigo prevented it, at least for now.

Memories came. Sporadically, and in flashes, but there they were, nonetheless.

An image of a truck, being led to it, a blindfold presented to me. However, no panic accompanied the memories.

That's when I remembered a crucial piece of information regarding my abduction.

I was in on it.

In fact, I orchestrated it. With my stepmother.

Why does this sound like it might be the play by play of a porn scenario? Because it kind of IS like one?

My father -- bastard that he is (was?) -- married Gina recently.

Only, I could see the looks that Gina gave me, the lilt in her voice, the casual points of contact, her hand against my arm. Her body against mine as she squeezed by to get to the curtains to adjust them. Her breath clos to my mouth during the embraces of greeting and departing.

I sensed an attraction almost immediately. Well, by that I mean beside the one that I felt FOR her.

Reciprocity.

Such a great word. In sound, yes, but even better in deed or action.

Gina and I had enjoyed a near-instant connection from the first time I met her. However, things were difficult. After all, she was dating my father.

And I wanted to be a good daughter.

At least, I wanted to for all appearances. I could give fuck-all for being a good daughter for real.

After all, my father was a real piece of work. He was all smiles and good cheer whenever the public was involved, or when he met someone new. However, when it came to life at home, guy was an absolute asshole.

Wait. That's not harsh enough.

He was a fucking asshole, and there is no fate in Hell that is too cruel for him to suffer.

You see, death follows him, or is at least in part caused by him.

How I'm not dead yet is still unclear to me. Sincerely.

I have thought about my own death too many times to count. I even tried to effect it a couple times.

Okay. Five times. But who's counting?

He is. Bastard. He even uses it against me. Says it is reason to keep trying to make me right. Says he needs to fix me.

Fucker.

Actually, apropos word.

It makes me hate my older sister Harriet even more.

You see, she got out, despite all the bullshit. She escaped.

And here I am, still enduring the pain, the heartache, the headache, the abuse, the torture.

At least, until now, if Gina did what she was supposed to do.

I'm alive, so that's a good sign (is it?).

And I'm surrounded by barnyard animals. No blindfold any more. (It had to look good and convincing, in case the police got suspicious).

Other barnyard noises made themselves present. A little clucking, the grunt of a pig, the shuffling of hooves. Knowing that the bastard should be getting his due make the smell of intermingled manure all the more enjoyable.

Panic comes over me again. Am I safe?

Then another memory rises to the surface.

My father and I were abducted together. Again, to make sure that no suspicion went in the wrong direction. And Gina with a nasty scar across her forehead.

A sigh of relief.

Gina's image in my mind brought a sense of peace. She always has that effect on me.

I think she saw the way things were going to be earlier in the relationship than most of my father's girlfriends have over the years. It was obviously not apparent to me when I was younger, but now that I am in my final year of college, a lot that used to be obscured is now salient.

For years I thought I was the only one. Harriet clued me in otherwise, about a week before she left, I think for Europe. Maybe Canada.

There were times I still loved Harriet. Then there were the times I hated her. For leaving me with my father. Who I hated even more. Actually, it is inconceivable for me to consider hating anyone more than my father.

I refuse to call him Dad. or Father. There is no way that a) he was anything more than a sperm donor, and b) he deserved a capital letter associated with his name. Unless it was Asshole.

As an aside, I wish there were a word that captured exactly what he is/was, besides Asshole. If you have a suggestion, I am all ears. Cumstain? Blight? Pestilence? Abomination?

To say I hate him does the word hate a gross injustice.

And gross is an apt (though not apt enough) word to describe my father.

Anyway, I digress, and that does Gina a disservice.

Gina is one stand-up gal. (Who the fuck came up with gal, and thought it was an acceptable word?)

And, while I am on the subject of Gina, she is beautiful. Nay -- she is Hot. Sexy. Righteous. Girl-boss. Gas. Fire.

You name it. Whatever positive sobriquet you can assign to her, it will fall short (FAR short) of her actual awesomeness.

It was like she could sense my quandary, my predicament, my...impossible situation. Maybe she was enamored with my father in the beginning, but I think it became clear to Gina what sort of man my father was. (I hope it is was instead of is).

So a plan was put into action.

However, it required that both Gina and I would be above suspicion.

Some time into the relationship that Gina and my father engaged in, it became obvious that my father had not, nor would he ever, change his ways.

In other words, his desires for Gina at times manifested toward me.

There. I said it, after a fashion.

My father sought to dominate all the women in his life. My mother. My sister. Me. Now Gina.

Gina saw this early on, and in so doing became my savior.

Sometimes I wondered if my love for Gina was entirely about her, or if it was more about my rejection of my father, and in consequence my eschewal of all men.

Did it matter? Especially if it was about getting away from my father?

Hugs from Gina were the best. Not just the best I ever had, but the best I could imagine.

They elicited a desire in me I did not know I possessed.

My father convinced me that there was no other man who could love me the way that he did. Really what that did was convince me that I did not want the love of any man if the way he displayed it was indicative of what it meant.

Asshole.

Then there was Gina. And the looks she gave me. Were they maternal? Or were they something more? After all, she was only five years older than me, and beautiful as fuck. Hell, she was sexy as fuck.

I had never felt such desire in my life.

I'd like to think it was not just about escaping my father. But if I had to escape him, and I was born by him, then what about someone who had chosen to be with him? I can only imagine the shame and self-betrayal of one who fell for the charms and ministrations of my father the bastard.

So there I was (am?), with the animals around me, the smells of the barn around me, the twilight turning into dawn, which meant that clarity would ensure. Is it symbolic or literal?

Who gives a shit?

As long as it is a step in the right direction, it does not matter one fucking iota anything else.

So there I was. An abductee. My stepmother with a wound on her head. My sister in another time zone. My father hopefully dead. The lamb oblivious to all of it.

My only hope is this:

Whatever fate my father experienced, I pray that it was filled with as much pain and suffering as possible.

And I hope it continues for all eternity.