“For Dragons Sake!” barks the man who rudely barged into my life earlier this evening. “That shit fucking burns!”
Relief momentarily lands on my shoulders that it’s a familiar face yet is immediately replaced by outrage over his presence. I wait until his hands have lowered themselves away from his wide gaze and spray the area a second time on a sneer.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” he rumbles while poorly waving his hands in front his face. “Would you please quit that shit?!”
“Not until you fuck off!”
He grumbles and coughs and grumbles some more. “What. The. Fuck is your problem?!”
“You!” I loudly shout at the same time I stomp my foot. “You destroyed the store-”
“That was the other being!”
“You murdered a man in front of me-”
“He wasn’t technically a man!”
“You tried to choke me to death with poisonous snot gas-”
“I saved you from that!”
“And now you’re stalking me in the fucking parking lot!”
“I can explain-”
“I don’t want you to explain!” My voice increases in volume as the rain picks up its pace. “I want you to,” the pressing of the nozzle the direction of his eyes is done a third time, “fuck,” and once more, “off.”
The male who I find myself hating even more for looking like someone worthy of a damn GQ cover continues to bat away the toxic mixture. “You’re in dang-”
His statement is cut short by a new, unusual sound coming from the sky. Our attention immediately darts up, yet I can barely stare on due to the huge gusts of wind caused by the chopper.
“Forfuckssake,” I mutter under my breath in tandem with the man I was defending myself from. “This night cannot seriously get any fucking worse.”
“Oh, it can,” a heavy, defeated sigh escapes the person I was just pretend pepper spraying, “And it’s about to.”
My stare swiftly shifts to his.
“Get to your car.”
I lower my mouth to insist I can handle myself – point and proof his burning eyes – however I am silenced by an animal-like growl seeping from him.
“Now.”
Another urge to argue rushes to the tip of my tongue until the sight of ropes being thrown out of the air vehicle convince me to shut up.
Fuck.
Fine.
Maybe I should take the advice being tossed at me by Texas Broomstick Massacre.
People dressed in bondage gear propelling out of a helicopter seems like a good time to stop talking and start running, at least until I’m in a more defensible area.
Without so much as another look the stranger’s direction, I bolt towards my car in the nearby distance. Water mercilessly pours from the sky making every step forward I take harder than the last. Being drenched from my thick, wavy hair down to my old, Converse-covered toes would be far less taxing if I weren’t wearing jeans and a jean jacket – two things that now feel like I’m sporting bags of fucking bricks for outerwear.
My full speed sprint to my car – that I’m praying doesn’t hesitate to start like it did this morning – is suddenly interrupted by a tall, pale, pointy-eared individual appearing directly in the path I’m taking. There’s barely enough time to tuck in my lower torso to avoid the grab he attempts to execute. Despite how difficult it is to maneuver in my clothing, I force myself to push through it, faint voices in the back of my head from my brothers and my dad reminding me that if I can keep moving, I can keep fighting. The prompt high kick between his open legs releases a hiss of pain as his frame folds forward in agony. His new position allows me to deliver a spritz of hair spray to his eyes, and the instant it’s in them, he releases a scream that would make that Home Alone kid proud. One push of him aside frees me to finish the short trek to my golden yellow vehicle. Getting it unlocked is done quickly, yet working to get the damn, temperamental door open becomes its own lengthy battle. Under my breath, I cuss like the sailor I was partially raised by while yanking on the handle with all the force my slender figure can muster up. Unfortunately, the second it finally grants me access, it’s slammed shut by an attacker behind me. Knowing now is not the time to hesitate, I stomp on his toes, jab my elbow backwards into his abdomen, and pop my can clutching fist into his face. Angling the makeshift self-defense object is done blindly as is holding down the nozzle in hopes it hits the assailant versus just the air.
Howls of discomfort inform me of my success and, thankfully, that victory is followed immediately by another. I get the door open and myself locked inside before another kicked-out-of-The Matrix dressed character can come after me. The almost empty hairspray can is abandoned on my junky car floor during my pursuit to jam the key into the ignition, but my shoulder bag remains pressed tightly to my side due to my laser focus on getting the fuck out of the parking lot. My luck – to no real surprise – has once more run out. Rather than start, the engine clicks at me in Morse code to go away.
To try again later.
To let it finish sleeping off the hard work it did getting me to work.
Rage-filled screams shoot out of me at the same time I pound on the steering wheel in frustration.
I don’t have time for this shit!
I’m clearly in the middle of a real-life horror movie, and I refuse to be the big-tittied bimbo who dies in the first five minutes – and not just because my boobs aren’t even that fucking big!
I ignore the increasing speed of my racing heart and shakiness in my hands.
I pretend I can’t hear the thrumming of my pulse in my ears and feel the trepidation turning into knots in my stomach.
Yeah, I’m freaked the fuck out, but being freaked out isn’t going to solve my problems.
Only taking action will.
Twisting the key a second, third, and forth time all prove to be useless; however, on the fifth try, my engine roars to life, presenting me with a flicker of hope I desperately need. Squeals of gratitude slip past my lips at the same time I shift my old hatchback into drive. My foot slides onto the accelerator when an unbelievable sight plops down in front of my car.
The massive, gold-scaled creature, tips his long, rectangular snout towards the sky and unleashes a stream of fire out of his open mouth.
No.
No-huh.
Not real.
Not happening.
Burnt objects – or more likely people – crash to the pavement one right after another, smoldering outsides barely put out by the rain that’s deciding to finally lighten up. Splats on the pavement cause me to cringe and shake my head in disgust of the visual as much as the sound. Behind the beast in the far distance, I manage to catch the burning helicopter crashing to the ground, destroying an expensive sports car in its demise.