||Short Story | One Shots||
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Like how cameras capture moments, so do words. With words, memories and moments are held as captives of time, in a single frame--much like a picture. Here lies a collection of one-shots, con...
Rule two: Girls shouldn't be out after dark wearing a dress.
Rule three: Girls shouldn't be out after dark, wearing a dress and they certainly shouldn't meet men in the oily shadows of the night.
'It is not a safe world for us girls. Beware of strangers, beware of men.' I have lost count of the number of times I have heard that.
Girls shouldn't do this. Girls shouldn't do that.
These are the rules for not being raped, pillaged and murdered. You heed them unless you want your body to be dumped into the sea where the marine life will gradually nibble on you until you are nothing but bones. It is ingrained into every girls' heart from the moment she takes her first breath.
But what are the rules when you are the killer?
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"Tara, I am going to kill my boss. Bill deserves a fucking pole to be shoved so far up his ass he sees the stars and then joins them." I barely control my hysteria. The world is drowning in magentas, reds and maroons. My soul churns with fire.
"Tris. Tris. Calm down. What happened?" Even though she is miles away, back home in NYC, I can feel the warmth and concern flooding down the line. I take momentary comfort in it before the rage rises back up like sour bile.
I am in the girl's bathroom to talk to her. I turn on the tap so the sound of water cascading against the marble fills the room, drowning out my words. Clamping down on my teeth, I grit, "You know how a few weeks ago I told you that he groped my ass in the office, right? At the time, it happened so fast that I thought I imagined it. But fuck, Tara, he comes up to me two days ago and shoves me against a wall in a silent corridor and kisses me in this disgusting slobbery way. I knee-kick him in the balls and shove him away. For this, he turns molten red and purple."
I am choking on my own breath in my panic. I don't even know how that is possible.
"Calm down, Tris. It is ok. Tell me what happened. We'll deal with him. Slow down and tell me the details clearly."
I gulp. "Okay. After I pushed him off, he said, 'No one rejects me. See how I pay you back, bitch.' I thought he was going to fire me, but he doesn't and I just dismiss his words as words uttered by a hurt male ego. The next day it is 'bring your kid to work day,' so I bring May. She sits by me the whole day except for these ten minutes I go and print something from a place across the street because my printer isn't working." The words just gush out, a stream I cannot control.
My fingers are trembling to an extent that the phone nearly falls out of my sweaty palms and to the floor. I gripe it harder. Tara is shouting to me to talk to her but the world is drowning in screams. I think they are mine. Or maybe I am imagining it. I count down from ten.
