On the Run by M Zeigler (short story to read TXT) 📖

shoves me inside before she looks back to see if anyone noticed us then she to steps in behind me.

Looking around I’m greeted with white tiled floors extending down a long darkened hallway, and white walls on either side with more bright red doors. The hallway looks like something fresh out of a nightmare, you know, one of those ones where you keep running down the hall but you never get anywhere at all? That is what this area looks like and I don’t like it, I give a slight menacing look to whatever may or may not be lurking in the shadowed hallway before replying to the blonde standing here with me.

“Why would he think that? I said I’d help him. And I never got your name goldilocks.” I reply carefully as soon as the now straight haired blonde is inside. After speaking I set my bag on the floor, Chelsea scoffs at me giving an incredulous look, even batting her gold painted eye lashes at me.

“ My name is Chelsea, and you took off after that black SUV three days ago; we assumed you were dead or working for that Devon guy.” Chelsea hisses, she sounds furious with me right now but it’s not up to her to be mad and turn me away. I just jumped evaded security and jumped umpteen fences to get here and this snobby blonde isn’t sending me away until I talk to Barrette.

“I’m not dead and I didn’t vanish I gave Alden, and Barrette my phone number. I had to get my affairs in order at home, unlike you peons; my world doesn’t revolve around some pompous ass that happens to have a good singing voice. Now where is Barrette?” I demand of Chelsea with as much sass as I can muster being as tired as I am, Chelsea gives me an offended squawk clearly disapproving of my words against her boss.

“May I remind you that Pompous ass saved your life, you could at least be respectful?” Chelsea snaps at me, I look down at her with anger in my eyes that fades away when I realize she means me no harm, verbally or otherwise. She merely means to say that Barrette told her about how I was the same woman who wrote the letter that uplifted their spirits. She is also trying to keep my attitude in check, not something that is easily done. I have one saying in life that I live by, treat me with respect and dignity and I will be your best friend, your protector, and a shoulder to cry on; but if you dare cross me you best hide, I will swiftly become your worst nightmare. In everything I do, I take no prisoners and leave no survivors, but I do it with grace, dignity and grace.

 “Fair enough, I’d like to talk to barrette. He needs to be up to updated on what happened Friday, yesterday and today.” I say to Chelsea, she is about to eagerly lead me out until she takes in my appearance then her excitement fades to a frown.

“You’re not going out there dressed like that, even Barrette shows better formality than Save-mart jean rejects; and is this top from Steven Tyler’s bad idea thrift store collection?” Chelsea criticizes my attire first pointing out my worn down shredded jeans then my T shirt I bought last year from a thrift shop in Arizona.

“First off Malibu Barbie, Steven Tyler rocks, second I don’t care what these high-class hittlers think of me.” I snap as I wrench my shirt sleeve away from her deciding I don’t like Chelsea all that much anymore, she just insulted my clothes and more importantly she insulted Steven Tyler! 

“I didn’t say that your taste was bad, just not appropriate for this event. Come with me, if you want to talk to Barrette then you need to at least conform to his idea of formal which honestly isn’t much better than your idea.” Chelsea announces as she drags me and my bag towards the dressing rooms. “What is wrong with Barrette’s clothing? I think he looks fine.” I reply feeling rather confused over what Chelsea is saying about the southern rocker and his excellent choice in clothes. He’s lucky I don’t live with him, I would have ninety percent of his clothes in my closet within a week. Particularly one leather jacket that has thick steel chains bound to the arms and about four spikes that stud the shoulders. I’ve wanted that jacket since the moment I spotted a photo of him wearing it.

“That is exactly my point.” Chelsea sighs dejectedly as she shoves me into the nearest dressing room that happens to have Barrette’s name on the door. 

Fifteen minutes later, after a quick shower, and being attacked with a hair dryer, flat iron, and makeup brushes, I’m stepping out of the room wearing a black almost floor length gown that is more appropriate for a rich persons funeral than it is for a celebration.

The dress itself isn’t all that bad, honestly, and secretively I kinda dig the lavish gown, with its pirate wench cut, and one of those uncomfortable mid-section corsets that really chafe in all the worst places. Even more of a reason to love this dress is the fact it’s entirely black up until the floor, from the hem of the dress lace overlay skirt are fine sterling silver threads which weave delicate ivy like floral patterns into the otherwise drab lace. In addition to the skirt being adorned with silver patterns, the corset further accents the dress by way of a sheet of silver lace on a black cloth backdrop. Thick buckles hold the corset in place, giving the dress a somewhat Hollywood bad girl look is a thin almost delicate looking chain which laces up the back of the corset. Topping off the frilly bad girl look; is a messy bun held up tight with a black lace and chain hair tie, a few pieces of hair hang down in my face having been expertly pulled down by Chelsea.

 Chelsea was even so kinda as to loan me an undoubtedly over priced black and white diamond necklace. It’s an intricate mess of tiny little diamonds which have been woven into sterling silver chains and then the chains are woven into a lace pattern that comes to a point at my collar bone. Adorning the center of the necklace is a huge grey colored diamond. This single bright shining diamond alone probably costs more than my car does! Clinging to my feet are a pair black flats with silver plates covering the toe and heel, they are only present on me because I couldn’t walk in the stiletto boots Chelsea picked out originally. Walking in those boots was like trying to balance you heel on a really skinny decorative nail.

I have to cut some credit to those model on the run way, I could never walk so confidently in heels like that, I’d break my neck in two shakes of a lambs tail.

“I feel like Malibu puked all over me, and I don’t like it.” I growl at Chelsea not wanting to show any sign of approval over this attire. Chelsea instantly turns around, her face goes from worried to overjoyed in a millisecond. If it were up to me I’d be beefing up the attire by ditching these uncomfortable ballet slippers and strapping on my biker boots, and this necklace would go right back in its box and back to the jewelers!

“Oh hush, you look beautiful! I didn’t think you would clean up so nicely!” The blonde cheers as I bend over to open up my back pack off the floor where I was forced to dump it upon entering the room. Chelsea gave no warning at all before she was shoving hair care products at me and explaining that I really need to take better care of my hair. I really don’t know who she thinks she is but I don’t approve her insulting behavior tonight.

 “No, no, no! Ladies don’t bend over they kneel down.” Chelsea yelps the minute I have the bag open, she even gives me a partial example by gracefully kneeling towards the floor as if she were some sort of ballerina.

“Hi-ya Chelsea, I’m Bonnie Parker, queen of the outlaws and number one on the exile list in the world of manners.” I reply as I pull my grandfathers Colt forty five revolvers from my bag along with six rounds from the almost empty ammo box. I’m really glad I brought two more boxes with me, I still need to stalk up but what I have here will due for now.

“No, you are not bringing those out there.” Chelsea argues the moment she puts eyes on the guns, her expression is mortified. She acts as if she didn’t expect me to bring guns to the party, or be objective to this torture she calls luxurious fashion.

I do have to give credit where credit is due, Chelsea did pause to gawk at the guns before opposing their presence in my hands. After taking a moment to look over the black barrels that have gold inlay I flip the limo open  on both guns to ensure that they are both loaded. As my father’s marine friend taught me, you can never be overly prepared, it’s always most wise to have your gun and not need it, than to not have it and end up dead.

As I do this, Chelsea takes a closer look at the gold patterned inlay on both gun barrels depicting a well detailed, muscled python that is wound up around a rose, almost as if protecting it. The rose petals are made of a rose colored gold that is so well polished and preserved both guns look brand new.  I have no idea why my grandfather was so obsessed with these two revolvers but he was, they are identical in every way even down to the makers mark on the grips and in the golden colored inlay.

 Ignoring Chelsea’s words I tuck both guns into the sides of my corset so that you cannot see them unless you really look close and if you’re looking at me that close your likely to get a very good look at both weapons.

“Okay, Barbie, can I talk to your redneck ken doll now?” I taunt Chelsea who bites her pink stained lips; giving me an irritated growl I watch as she storms past me, wrenches the door open and vanishes into the party. As for me I stay here just long enough for me to toss my bag back into Barrette’s dressing room and lock the door praying that someone has a key to this room so I don’t have to bust the door down later.

Outside in the yard where the party is still carrying on I take a good solid look at everyone here; it’s my best belief to take in everything around you. Not just for the purpose of being paranoid but because every moment is precious no matter how small it may seem. Everything negative think, hang onto it, you might need to summon that negativity and forge it into determination. A positive comment, or action, download that into your memory and use it when you feel down and depressed.

 Seeing that everyone is wearing overly priced items I figure that Barrette should be easy to spot amongst the crowd. I also note that the entire ‘party’ set up is drab, there are dull colored banners hanging wound around the legs of plastic tables, the DJ looks half asleep at his booth, and the bar tender looks like he needs a drink just to deal with the music the DJ is playing.  To me this isn’t a party this is a social gathering, I cannot believe I dodged two security guards, a canine guard, and