The Last Of The Blessed

Chapter 1: Well Fuck

But, I guess if you are going to understand how I ended up here, dying in the middle of some dumbass field in nowhere Montana then I'm gonna have to back this story up a few months. Oh, and just as fair warning to all the pearl clutchers out there, this story probably isn't for you. This story is dirty and full of some really fucked up shit. Oh, and I curse like a sailor, but hey you've been warned. 

Ok, I am big enough to admit it now. I was an idiot. I mean, how stupid can you be? All of the signs were there. Giant, flashing, neon signs all but screaming at me to TURN AROUND YOU IDIOT. There I was just working at the diner like I had since I was sixteen. Just minding my own business trying to be normal and that is when everything changed.

My name is Rebecca Maitlin and I had just turned eighteen, all bright eyed and ready to face the world excited to finally be free of the "challenges" of high school. See what I mean? Dumb. My biggest concern was that I literally had no clue what I wanted to do with my life. Most of my friends from school had gone off to college. All ready to become doctors, or lawyers, or whatever. Here I was stuck at the same old crappy diner working for the same old crappy tips I always had. It was like everyone else had something figured out in life that I didn't. They all seemed to have real goals. My biggest goal was making sure that the guy at table five didn't grab my ass again.

The diner was old and run down and, honestly, I couldn't ever imagine why anyone would actually eat there. Its only redeeming quality was that it happened to be snuggled up in the middle of a very busy street and it was the only place to eat for several blocks. Personally, I would have walked a few more blocked and save myself the salmonella but hey it kept me employed. It had a "shabby chic" thing going for it as Tom, my boss, liked to say. One of those throw backs to days gone by that never quite caught up with the times. Held together mostly by pleather, chrome, and a healthy coating of grease. 

"Order up," John, the fry cook, said from behind the serving window.

Wiping the sweat from my brow with the towel that I always kept in my neon orange apron, I turned towards the window and grabbed the burger and fries for the gross guy at table five. Taking a deep breath, I put on my brightest smile and walked over.

"Here you go sugar." I said, placing the burger in front of him, "can I get you anything else?"

The man slowly sat back in his chair the leather providing a nice farting sound for ambiance. Slowly he ran his tongue across what little teeth he had left. I felt my skin crawl as his eyes leisurely traveled the length of my body. 

"I can sure think of a few things I'd like from you sweet thang," he said.

I fought for control of my gag reflex and rolled my eyes "As absolutely revolting as that sounds, I'm gonna take a hard pass." I said, as I turned to see if table ten needed anything.

As I walked back to the counter after making my rounds, John poked his head out from the kitchen and gave me a knowing look. John was twenty-three and he's had a crush on me since he started working here four months ago. He was about a foot taller than me with dark brown hair and even darker eyes. He was nice, but I wasn't really looking to date anyone just then. I had let him down gently, and he had taken it surprisingly well. 

"I can take care of that guy for you if you want."

"No. Its fine," I replied, "I can handle it myself."

"Ok. Well if he keeps hassling you, let me know," he called as he pulled his head back into his grease coated cave.

I looked up about five minutes later to see Table Five signaling for the check. I walked over and set the check in front of him, telling myself that putting up with this jackass was about to pay off, and turned to leave.