This choice: ...left with an overly-dramatic sigh to see Dan Spitz. • Go Back...Chapter #3Random violence by: Tocks ..left with an overly-dramatic sigh to see Dan Spitz. She didn’t have time to wait on some stupid detective. She wanted information about this wonderful little machine. She took the bus over to Mr. Spitz’s building, amusing herself along the way by surreptitiously pointing the remote out the window and shrinking random people. (As the rest of the trip is kind of boring, let’s digress and check out a few victims.)
Chris Sovette had seen better days. Too much alcohol had led to losing his CPA position and then to a series of firings. He hadn’t held a job other than temp manual labor for about 4 years. Lost his house to the bank 2 years ago. Currently, his possessions comprised of the clothes he was wearing and the mostly empty bottle sitting on the sidewalk. Sprawled out on the bus stop bench with a newspaper over his face, he bemoaned his life. He had no delusions. He knew everything that had happened to him was, as Jimmy Buffett put it, “his own damn fault”. Half hated his self-destruction and half prayed it would hurry up. An unlikely angel answered his prayer as Jen hit “that filthy bum” with a shot from the device. A two-inch Chris now rested under the newspaper.
About that time, a couple of women who had been smoking off to the side came back around. “That filthy bum must have gotten on the #37,” said Maria, sweeping the paper off the bench with Chris entangled in the pages.
“I can still smell him though,” said Farrah, sitting down and stepping on the paper, crumpling it under her wedged heel sandals.
“Hey, kick that paper over here. Is that a sale at Dillard’s?”
Farrah obliged sliding it over with her sole, unable to notice a small bump compressed underneath. When it got to Maria, she stepped on the page with both feet to straighten it out enough to check out the sale. Again, with all the dirt that has now wiped off the soles of two girls’ shoes, who would notice a wet stain concentrated in one of Maria’s heelprints. (We can only hope all that alcohol anesthetized Mike enough before he was unknowingly flattened by disdainful women.)
“Camelia! Stop stepping on those flowers! They don’t belong to you and it’s not nice. Are you listening to me, young lady!”
Grudgingly obeying her stepmother, Camelia got out of the flower bed of the neighbor near the stop, crushing two more flowers as she did. Her stepmom saw that final act of defiance. She grabbed Camelia by her shoulders and gave her a shake. “I told you to stop that! Look at your shoes. They are all dirty now. I spent a long time cleaning them for you today. What will your teacher say?”
Another abusive mother, Jen thought angrily. She had her own issues with her mother. Zap.
Camelia opened her eyes as the brief shake stopped. Where did her stepmother go? Little squeaky noises on the ground. A doll?, she wondered picking it up.
“Camelia, be careful. It’s me. Something’s happened. You need to get help for Mommy,” the little doll said.
“You’re not my Mommy,” frowned Camelia, walking back over to the trampled flower bed.
“What are you doing? I’m sorry, honey. Aaaaaaah!”, the stepmom said before she was cut off by a long drop. Bruised, but otherwise unhurt by the fall to the soft soil, she tried to get to her feet. She heard a giant CRUNCH. To her left, a redwood-sized tulip crashed to the ground under a muddy black shoe. Looking at her step-daughter twisting the blossom into mush under one foot, she didn’t notice the other foot raising above her until the shadow fell upon her.
“Hey, get out of my garden,” yelled the neighbor woman, “I’ll tell your mother.”
“My mom lives in NY. I’m going to be living with her soon,” said Camelia, scrubbing her stained shoe down into the dirt before walking back home to watch TV.
Now then do we do another random shrinking or find out more about Jen's visit to Mr. Spitz   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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