| ... "The Dulcinea Effect"... | |
|---|---|
| Tweet Topic Started: Feb 24 2017, 08:33 AM (96 Views) | |
| Amber Jaye | Feb 24 2017, 08:33 AM Post #1 |
![]()
|
“And therefore I looked down into the great pity of a person’s life on this earth. I don’t mean that we all end up dead, that’s not the great pity. I mean that he couldn’t tell me what he was dreaming, and I couldn’t tell him what was real.” ― Denis Johnson, Jesus' Son Undisclosed Motel Buffalo, NY 14.02.17 5:31am “Where the fuck do ya think you’re going?” It was a rhetorical question bellowed across an almost empty parking lot, aimed predominantly towards a young brunette woman- maybe late 20’s to mid 30’s depending on just how much makeup she’d chosen to slather on that day. Ignoring the almost guttural noise directed towards her, she continued to toddle awkwardly across the gravel parking lot with her impossibly high heels in hand and a skirt that defied the weather forecasts and all manners of common sense. “Oi! You fucking heard me!” Another booming echo blatantly ignored with awkwardly bare footsteps crunching across cold gravel. There could have been no doubt that Amber wasn’t the only one in the complex awake by now, however she was the only one sitting on the edge of the rooms doorstep contemplating whether it was worth getting up to buy a pack of cigarettes. A voice materialized into a face, reddened with the effort and smattered with the cheap crimson remains of lipstick and a couple of days’ worth of stubble followed closely by a poorly maintained middle aged body stepping out from behind a grey station wagon. Sorely missing a shirt in the cold of morning, the man seemed unperturbed by his lack of clothing, perhaps insulated just enough by patches of coarse body hair and a stomach that jiggled obscenely with each step. In defiance, the woman kept going with a determination that meant she was likely in over her head… maybe it was because the man was wearing a wedding ring, maybe it was because she was attempting to abscond with his wallet. It was no secret what had occurred between the pair in only semi private due to the thin nature of the motel room walls and feigned carnal groans of satisfaction, only instead of a happy ending the pair had found themselves embroiled in a dispute of possession and lack thereof. Amber watched on with a vague amusement, wondering if a cigarette would increase her enjoyment of the scenario playing out or simply leave her with a taste of regret and a raging nicotine craving that’d just serve to piss her off later. Cursed with the realization of how quickly things were going south, the young woman shot a further look of desperation back over her shoulder with an expression more likened towards a deer in headlights than a seasoned prostitute rolling a trick. Not that it mattered, neither of them deserved any sympathy. A married man chasing a prostitute trying to steal his wallet on Valentine’s morning? It was the desperate kind of mess that rom com writers surely wanked off to while writing a badly structured script. Amber pulled her hood over as the breeze softly danced across the back of her neck and rustled the few unruly strands of crimson that had fallen from the hold of her side plait. She had no concerns about being recognized, surely the gossip mongers and bottom feeders would be waiting around more classy establishments hoping for a slip of the tongue or an errant wardrobe malfunction from someone with a shred of name value. Not someone like the Distorted Angel in essence. It wasn’t that her name held no value- it had simply fallen through the cracks as the spotlight had moved on, tumbled beneath the radar since her last higher profile appearance at King Of The Cage where she’d scrapped her way to 2nd place. She’d become a social chameleon in a matter of months, a status which she much preferred if all honesty was being spoken. Now, on the doorstep of a cheap motel Amber found herself over-examining her odd socks with a contemplation of whether she should have put shoes on before venturing outside, and listening to the raucous disruption taking place between a mismatched pair equally guilty of being really shitty people. Not that it was exactly a foreign concept to a woman known for playing destructive pranks and spitting tacks at people. “Where do you think you’re going, ya dumb slut?” It probably wasn’t the best terminology he could have used, especially with curious faces now glancing feverishly from between drawn curtains trying not to be the ones caught rubbernecking, of course hindsight was only ever 20/20. Perhaps it had been made more evident by the young gym junkie in a white wifebeater and basketball shorts, boasting the mandatory tribal tattoo around the bicep and cap turned backwards, striding out across the gravel like some hero with a disgusted scowl spreading across his features. If there had been anytime for an epiphany, it would have likely been before picking up a prostitute the night before Valentine's Day, however since that time had long since passed it seemed only logical for the middle aged man to bellow further obscenities towards the hooker who’d now taken a pause to watch the car crash unfold in her wake. “Think you’re some big man, huh? Going after a woman like some cowardly piece of shit...” Less knight in shining armour saving a damsel and more wannabe good guy stepping into a situation he doesn’t fully grasp, it took less than a full sentence from the shirtless middle aged, soon to be robbery victim before the not-quite hero had heard enough and levelled his senior counterpart with a right hand mimicked from whichever action movie was bombing in cinemas that week. It was messy and didn’t land quite flush to the point that even Amber almost felt sorry for the guy, the amount of shame he’d brought on his family was undeniable considering that the blow hadn’t even been delivered convincingly. It was enough to bring a tear to the eye of anyone who’d ever been in a real fight. Except those people didn’t typically cry because reputations. Still it was all a matter of perspective- overweight obnoxious guy going after a helpless, terrified woman? Logic would dictate to help the woman… Dissatisfied married man being robbed by an inexperienced prostitute on Valentine's morning? Maybe not so much… Until this point Amber had been quite content letting things play out if only for the fact that it was more entertaining than the televangelists screaming about how everyone was going to hell or something of the like. Or was it the shopping channel? It had all become quite the pantomime with a protagonistic douchebag beating down a guy who resembled a fleshy beanbag and the supposed damsel making off with a handful of notes and a nearly maxed out credit card. With an over exaggerated groan of effort Amber dragged herself up from the doorstep, not quite convinced of why she had bothered to move in the first place, but almost immediately regretting it as her socks grew immediately damp beneath her feet. “Hey, wait up...” Padding across the gravel at a slow jog, Amber drew within a few steps of the woman before she slowed to a stop- clearly taking a moment to humour the redhead before making her quiet exit with wallet still firmly in hand. Pulling down her hoodie, the redhead took an extra moment to fix her braid before addressing the prostitute growing more impatient by the second. “What do you want…” “Well, I want a lot of things but frankly I don’t think my apartment is quite fit to house a miniature pony- that however is irrelevant in this case. See, I’m gonna need that wallet off you…” Defensively she turned away, like a child trying to keep a preferred toy out of the hands of a destructive sibling despite the pleas of a frustrated parental figure just trying to stop an argument. “I earned this” Amber couldn’t help but smile with a little shake of the head. “I’m not sure you grasp the definition of ‘earning’ anything except an errant STD. If anything you’re being a little greedy if you don’t mind me saying.” “Why you even helping him anyway- he’s a pig and deserves all that's coming to him.” “I’d just like to state for the record, you just admitted to servicing a pig, I’m pretty sure that's beastiality and illegal in most states- however you’re right, he clearly does deserve it and in case you didn’t notice, he’s happening to be taking that karma in full as we speak. Therefore I think we can agree that this…” Amber waves sarcastically towards the woman, disgusted by the fact the conversation is still in progress. “... is just plain excessive… Even by my very high, or very low, standards depending on who you ask. See, if you didn’t have Adonis McDouchebag over there…-” Punctuating herself, Amber made a point of gesturing in the general direction the one-sided scuffle where the gym junkie was busy raining down blows comparable to a skirmish between children who still tuck their thumbs into their fists when they punched. “... Trying to defend what he believes to be your honour then I’d have been more than content to let you simply waddle on out of here. However that poor bastard over there is gonna have a hard enough time explaining to a sexually dissatisfied wife, and probably disappointingly mediocre children, just why he’s didn’t come home last night and covered in bruises that look a little less than consensually kinky on Valentines day morning.” Raising an eyebrow, the prostitute looked less than moved and instead continually eyed the exit route trying to determine if she could get there before the redhead could react. A gamble she seemed surprisingly unwilling to take considering her decision, further exasperated by the squeal of incoming police sirens- a fact not lost upon Amber either. “... and this is just fantastic. Do you see what you guys have done? Do you know how much of my morning is about to be taken up telling police officers that I really don’t give a shit what just happened here. Here’s a hint- far too much.” “If you don’t give so much of a shit then why bother interfering? It ain’t your damn business.” “Maybe I found my… whats the term… civic responsibility I guess.” Scoffing loudly enough to attract the attention of nervous onlookers for a fraction of a second, Amber outstretched her hand expectantly. “Bullshit.” Amber shrugged sarcastically as though feigning having been caught out on some elaborate sham. “Well, damn you caught me. Drats, can’t say I didn’t try that one. Maybe I just like to even the odds for my own entertainment…. Just give me the wallet and be gone already cause judging by my rough calculations I reckon you’ve got all of a minute or so before the boys in blue storm this shit hole and frankly i’d hate to see your clown artistry be ruined by their dysfunction.” With an exaggerated sigh and a harsh realization of the situation, she hands over the wallet however instead of scampering like a cockroach, she waits impatiently with an out of rhythm tapping of barefoot on gravel. “Just know I haven’t been paid yet…” “Not my problem, I wasn’t the one who couldn’t even roll a guy built like a ball of playdough and animated by Tim fucking Burton.” “It is now… or else I’m telling the cops that you beat the shit out of me.” “You’re bluffing.” “Wanna find out?” “Honestly? Not really. I mean the dampness of my socks bothers me a lot more than you do... ah, to hell with it, not my money. How much does he owe you.” A moments hesitation forewarned of an incoming lie, long before the words trickled from between heavily painted lips. “$50” “You can have a $20 and be grateful I actually didn’t beat the shit out of you.” “$30” “You don’t seem to understand the fact that this isn’t a negotiation.” “$25” “I swear to fuck…” “$20” "Now was that really so difficult? I thought not." Casually, as though the faux leather wallet was her own- Amber rustled through it withdrawing one of two rumpled $20’s before tauntingly slowly handing the note over to the hooker who stormed away as fast as a woman in barefeet and a creeping skirt could manage. Amber turned back to where the knight in a less than shiny cap and basketball shorts had finally tired of his charade, retiring back to his hotel room, with a girlfriend way too hot for his douchebaggery, as though he were some kind of action star retiring to a trailer between scenes. In his wake, the middle aged man, dragged himself to his side with a trickle of blood trailing slowly down his chin and the discolouration above his cheekbone spread beneath his left eye. With a shrug, Amber gently pulled the remaining $20 from the man's wallet and stuffed it messily into her pocket trying to ignore the cold spreading across the soles of her feet, before slowly padding her way over. “Never seen karma act so quick before if I’m honest.” “Great, another member of the peanut gallery come to mock my poor decision making. Unfortunately you’ve probably been beaten to posting this crap on the internet by now, not that it makes a difference coming from me though.” “Actually I just came over to give you this but hey, mockery works just as well.” Tossing the wallet to the ground, it bounced slightly before landing face up and open. A quick inspection confirmed his cash had disappeared however the credit cards had remained untouched, a small wonder perhaps. “Thanks. I really appreciate it, if there's anything I can do…” It was always astounding the way a persons tone would change when things suddenly swung, even minutely, in their favour. Stars aligning even if they were only stick on ones on their childs bedroom ceiling. “You aren’t in a position to be doing anything I’d ever be interested in I can assure you. If you wanna do something nice though, take this…” Removing the mans crumpled $20 note from her pocket, Amber let it drift to the gravel where it landed just off to the side of the wallet. “... buy your wife some flowers or something and hope she takes it easy on you with the divorce.” “Hang on, how would you know whether she’s gonna divorce me?” “Cause the internet is a wonderous thing. Or maybe it isn’t… I guess your child support will soon confirm this.” Without much of another word Amber left the man to regroup, wandering back to the motel room doorstep with the realization that after all that effort, she hadn’t even gotten a packet of fucking cigarettes... |
![]() "They call me observant. That's not particularly true. People are so easy to read We bleed emotions even in the way we drink our coffee. No one seems to notice though. They're all too busy drinking their own damn coffee." -Unknown | |
![]() |
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| « Previous Topic · Solo Work · Next Topic » |
| Track Topic · E-mail Topic |
2:28 PM Jul 11
|
Hosted for free by ZetaBoards · Privacy Policy









2:28 PM Jul 11