Bloody Mary Jane Girlz

The Arrival

That chill brought along a heavy mist that thickened the existing fog that had been with Cougaville since 4:30 am. Megan was the first to notice them, starting with the pair of tiny feet marching forward in Chuck T Converses. Then came another set. And another — until the fog revealed five girls slowly and methodically approaching the chaos.

Anticipating the deathblow, Brie was surprised to learn that she was still conscience, let alone alive. Curious to know why she hadn't been polished off, she turned her head to see what apparently had nabbed everyone's attention.

They looked hella eerie while trotting forward in those short black dresses, heads hung, long hair dangling over their faces as they moved along in robotic fashion. As they neared closer, Brie noticed that the girl who led the pack held a small, yet fiery torch in between her fingers. Trained to detect the scent, Brie wiggled her nose and instantly identified the familiar substance — pot. Strong as hell, too.

The leader took two puffs of the strong, dank herb then passed it to the girl to her right. The aroma was so powerful and potent that it generated comments from the crowd the likes of:

"You smell that?"

"They got that fire."

"Damn. Smell better than my shit."

An uncomfortable tension filled the air, masking the schoolyard with an intoxicating combination of frustration, anger, and agony. It seemed like things got more intense when the quintet of mysterious girls paused in front of the TnB, which essentially pinned prone and poor Brie in between the two crews.

Hands on her hips, lips twisted, nose tooted to the sky, Arlene gave the strange stragglers a quick lookover. She couldn't help but notice that despite the freakishly pale skin that even made the apparent leader, who was obviously black mixed with something, look like she was derived straight from a jar of mayonnaise, their bodies were perfect — dangerously sharp curves, lady lumps and bumps of ideal proportion. Arlene could feel the eyes of all the boys in attendance on the luscious frames of these mysterious Jezebels. This got her explosive temper to boiling.

"Salvation Army's that way," Arlene pointed in the direction from which the gothic gang arrived. "This is a learning institution. Something I'd bet you flea-bitten hookers aren't familiar with."

Arlene made a funny, so naturally, she had to look around to make sure her followers responded accordingly. They'd better. Or she'd ream their asses with those f-word-laced verbal barrages that weren't worth shit in real life, yet quickly got them in line every time.

The pampered princess had the situation in her greedy palm, but shit gets real — often faster than we're able to process. Arlene turned to find the group of grimly girls strapped with aluminum baseball bats and devilish grins. The mixed girl acted as the leadoff hitter, winding up and unloading with a fierce swing that buckled Arlene's knees and brought her down instantly — but not before breaking her jaw, knocking out three of her teeth, and sending a trail of blood spewing from her mouth.

Up stepped the corner swingers, who used the advantage of momentum to drop Megan and Tammy with shots that landed with twice the force of the blow that collapsed Arlene, indicated by the sickening sound of bat crackling against their facial bones. Next up was the outfield, the last two of the five, who moved in to perform the cleanup work. Then like synchronized sluggers, all five girls whacked at the opposition, hacking away with precisely timed swings that made it appear as if their strikes were controlled by a single mind and body.

The crowd of students looked on in awe — some refused to look at all due to the image being so violent and horrific. But those who refused to gaze couldn't elude the sickening thuds that haunted their ears. Every perfectly synced swing was immediately followed by the sound of torn flesh, the tune of bones snapping, crackling, and popping. One onlooker was so distraught, she retreated from the scene and dashed to get help.