Wha ha happened?

I've been a solitary soul for the last two years.  I'm used to doing my own thing. To going on one date with a man and immediately knowing that it wasn't going to work out.  I've posted a number of blogs about horrible dating situations, and used my romantic escapades as humorous anecdotes to entertain my friends and family, and even strangers while performing stand up sets.  I hear sweet stories from friends about their significant others being romantic, and I awww while making puking sounds.  I guess, in a nutshell...I'm a 15 year old boy when it comes to matters of the heart.  So, I'm going to be honest and say that I am currently befuddled and maybe smitten.  Which to laymen would be really amazingly awesome, but to those who are acquainted with me know is slightly awkward and complicated.

I'm not gonna whine about how I got to this slightly off centered view of love and hearts and cupids.  I'm not gonna list the umpteen jerk faces that have damaged me.  We all have those, and we all deserve better. Done. Awesome. But I am gonna tell you a fabulous tale of two people becoming reacquainted and going on two very lovely dates.  And the reason I'm befuddled and maybe smitten.

The cute boy who asked me out on a date for Friday picked me up at 8, after I finally broke down and allowed him to know where I live.  Usually I meet someone out for a first date, but I thought, 'To hell with it.  My friends all know him so if I end up getting chopped to pieces, they'll know who to blame.' Yep.  I'm a psycho.  He picked me up in a convertible after I had just washed and styled my hair...AND I DIDN'T MIND. Usually, I'm a control freak, but it was just so nice to see him, and it didn't hurt that he had brought me a GRAPHIC NOVEL and a metal bookmark with an inspiring quote from Thoreau on it in lieu of flowers. SCORE!

We went to dinner and had sake, sushi, and some laughs.  Then came decision time...would the date be extended or would we part ways?  We ended up drinking half a bottle of wine on my patio until 1am. The first kiss was awkward, but amazing. (He said, "Gimme some sugar, baby" and kissed me. Swoon!)  I didn't fall asleep until 2:30, and had to be up and ready for a baby shower early the next morning.  I was in a haze. Chopping tomatoes for a salad, I was humming and cheerful...texting him with tomato gooed hands. I felt like I was 15, only a female fifteen year old who wanted to scribble his name on my notebook and be an idiot.  So, we made plans for later that day.

We went to the comic book store that I frequent, and wasted some time and money there. Then dinner, and  a kids dance show.  One of my favorite girls asked if we were dating.  I said yes.  She said she approved. Since then there have been a series of emails back and forth, and I'm starting to get the hang of it.  He's been so open about liking ME, for me, and I just really like him back. I'm still scared, and still worried about losing the fiercely independent me that I have grown to love over the past 2 years. Concerned with how I'm going to allow someone into the finely tuned scheduling that has been my romantically isolated life. But I'm willing to try it out. I'm pretty sure there has been a significant change in me from just two dates, so who knows what the future may bring.

Eh.  Three serious blogs in a row.  I'm slipping!

Fiction Friday Numero Seis

It's Friday, and I anticipate yet another late night posting, as I have a date, as you probably already know.  So, here I am, at the day job, ignoring actual work to bring you another Fiction Friday.  This one will probably reflect my current inner feelings which are surprisingly happy and hopeful.  Maybe my mom did the right thing when she gave me the middle name Hope.  So, here it goes.

Hope

By This Girl

Driving down the highway at 90 miles an hour with tears streaming down your face is never a good idea. Teeth chattering as the high speed created vibrations through the body of my beat up old Nissan, I contemplated driving into oncoming traffic, off the side of the road, or into the rear end of the tractor trailer in front of me. I imagined a Hollywood style fiery inferno engulfing the car, myself, and my problems.  Nothing would ever be right again.  I was running, running from a bad relationship, a crap job I had just been fired from, and a host of personal demons that haunted my days and nights.  I had no direction, no destination, just a full tank of gas and desperation.  I had no idea where I was, or where I was going, and I didn't care.

As the cracked open window allowed the warm air to dry the tears on my mascara smeared face, I looked at the destination sign on my right. My instincts had kicked in, as the next exit would take me home.  I didn't want to go there.  I blew past the exit and, on a whim, continued down the road as the sky and my mood continued to darken.   There had to be something else, somewhere else, a light at the end of this tunnel. So I drove. And drove.  I stopped at a rest area to relieve myself and grab a snack from ancient vending machines, and drove. I passed small towns and big, streets and lanes and just drove.

My eyes started to droop and my stomach started to growl almost simultaneously.   I stopped at a diner in the middle of nowhere with a 24 hour sign lit in the front window. A film buff, I anticipated a smartass waitress named Ethel, popping her gum while she asked me what I would be having.  Lined up on stools at the counter would be rough and tumble truckers who were sweet as pie on the inside and were fiercely protective of the employees and women in general. The food would be surprisingly good, and I would finish off my meal with a slice of Ethel's famous apple pie ala mode and a coffee.  All would be right again, thanks to the wisdom of Ethel and the boys.

My expectations, like always, were not met.  The interior of the diner looked as if it had never known the caress of a cleansing agent or washcloth.  A smoky haze permeated the air, the source of which was a chain smoking Morticia Adaams look alike with a sweat stained waitress uniform and putrid pink lipstick on her sheet white face.  Her hair, long and stringy with patches of gray, was swept into an updo that had probably required 3 bottles of Aquanet to obtain.  I hesitated on the threshold of the building, wondering whether I could slip away before Morticia noticed me. A loud BING-BONG sounded, alerting the entire room of my presence. 

All eyes were on me.  The sole occupants of the counter were rotund flannel clad road jockeys, slurping coffee and making remarks to each other while giving me the once over.  Feeling small and threatened, I sidled into the nearest booth and reached for the menu that was propped behind the sugar caddy on the table, with my back to the room. I heard a rustle and realized that Ms. Adaams was making her way over to my table. The scent of cigarette and Jovan White Musk hit me first. I heard her take a breath to speak. My own breath sucked in, a defense mechanism from years of non-smoking. And she said...

TO BE CONTINUED...

A short one.

On Monday, I received the best Facebook message ever.

On Tuesday, I received another message that trumped the other as the best Facebook message ever.

On Wednesday, I received an e-mail that had me beaming and acting like an idiot for the whole day. Up until 1am, when I finally fell asleep.

Today, I re-read that e-mail. Twice. And it's only 9:45am.

I'm  very much looking forward to tomorrow.

A normal, non-fiction blog. Maybe.

I want to tell you all about a breakthrough I had over this past weekend.  Usually, I have these breakthroughs and they provide temporary respite from my normal mode of anxiety and general dissatisfaction. After my last blog regarding my adopted nephew, the week got even better. I actually went out of the house for a good portion of the weekend, which is rare for me as I am typically a stay at home and read kinda girl.  The breakthrough is still effecting me today.

This past Saturday I was invited to birthday drinks for my two friends, JH and JF.  JF's wife is my bestest of all friends, and she asked me if I wanted to grab dinner before hand. Another group of friends asked if I wanted to join them at the closing night of a crappy nightclub that we frequented on a couple of occasions. I said yes.  My mom and I decided to spend the day together, and we headed out to Bealls to grab some jeans for my grandma in Ohio, who loves a certain brand that they only carry down south.   We decided to take a pretty circuitous route, heading up Beeline Highway in the Jeep, all the way to Indiantown. This took us on scenic back roads and allowed us to drive without the complication of traffic.  As is our wont when driving together, we ended up stopping for lotto tickets and exploring the backwoods areas before making it to our department store destination.

Two hours of boring shopping later, we stopped for lunch. Mom wanted to make one more stop at the Gardens Mall, so we went in. $500 later, and I had an all new wardrobe, plus new underthings. I was excited. I got home and hopped in the shower to prep for my night out. Dressed in cobalt blue skinny pants and a black satiny blouse with heels and clutch purse, I felt beautiful for the first time in a long time, and not because an outside source was TELLING me.

Dinner with the girls was fun, as always.  We made fun of the somewhat skanky girls that were dressed like ballroom dancers for the prom that was happening that night.  We headed to the bar, and had a great time there as well. I got to see people that I haven't seen since I left the Jove, and it was wonderful to reconnect and know that they missed me as much as I missed them.  There was some tension as someone whom I did not really want to see was supposedly coming, but that person never showed up. At about 11:45, I had to leave my friends to meet up with the group at the club. I didn't really want to leave, as I was having such a good time, but the group promised to meet up with me.  So, I got in the Mini, changed into flats so I could dance my butt off in comfort, and headed to the Club.

In the parking lot, I ran into a couple of friends who DJ and are regulars at the club, so I didn't have to pay cover or show ID at the door.  It was nice to walk in with people I knew, and we proceeded to head to the bar.  Telling them I had to find my other friends, I grabbed my drink and happened upon the group out on the dance floor.  I have known these women (and man) since I was 12 years old.  They liked me when I was nerdy and more awkward than I am now, and still like me today.  I'm so lucky to have them in my life, and they know exactly how to pull me out of my shell.  I even danced with an older gentleman called the Milkman, who is a staple at the club. And by danced I mean he bent me backwards, over the stage and dry humped my leg for about 5 minutes.

We danced.  All night.  My other friends joined us at 1:30am, and we danced some more. There was laughter and goofiness, and general shenanigans and tomfoolery. My middle school friends left, and it was just the birthday people and myself.  The club closed, and we decided to head to yet another party location, a bar and grill that stays open until 5am. The group consisted of myself, JH and his girlfriend, JG, along with some of her friends from high school and a couple of cute boys that I was having fun peer pressuring into dancing with me. My body was hurting, but I just couldn't keep myself from moving.  I'm sure I looked ridiculous, but I just didn't care.  I had fun, and it's been a really long time since I had that kind of fun, without self judgement or insecurity.  And it was nice.

One of the cute boys has since asked me on a date for this Friday. I'm looking forward to it with little to no nerves, because this is someone who met the real me and actually liked that person. There will be no dancing involved, so we'll actually get to talk to each other minus the intense club beats and alcohol/adrenaline cloud that surrounded me on Saturday. I feel myself start to worry about it, but am able to tell myself that it's going to be great and to chill out. I think that is the best thing to come out of this past weekend.

That and my new matching bra and underwear. Which I will probably wear on Friday! :)

Fiction Friday the Fifth or Damn, I love alliteration.

This week, I was discussing Fiction Friday with my mom, complaining that it was harder than I thought.  She casually threw out the sentence, "Then maybe you should stop giving your writing away."

WHA?

I'm so used to giving it away. My writing, my voice, my acting, my time, my emotions and my energy.  I don't know any other way.  People have OFFERED to pay me for all of the above things, but I've rejected their advances. Why, I don't know.  But it's something I will continue contemplating.  Who knows where I would be if I insisted? Not me.  It's not my nature.

Ah, well.  Another late Fiction Friday, though this time is was due to watching Monte Carlo until 1 am and feeling depressed and sorry for myself while eating half a box of Cracked Pepper Triscuits.  Mostly cause I'm jealous of Selena Gomez's amazing boyfriend. BIEBS!! (I kid.)

Here it is.  No suggestion from anyone on this.  Just my brain.

Darkness

By This Girl

Slow and stealthy. Sinuous steps. A sigh escapes me in anticipation as I reach the prone form sprawled across the fallen chair that moments before had held a breathing, living being.   I looked at the surprised expression on Gary's face as I grasped the heart tipped pink and red arrow and pulled it from his chest.  Wrenching it out from between fragile ribs, I delighted in the spray of blood that followed a squelching noise of which I had become very familiar.  I was getting better at this. The first few times had been messier, noisier, and less quick for my victims.  Now it was rote. Watch, wait, then shoot.  Always aim for the heart. 

My predecessor had trained me well.  As a young Cupid in training, I had believed wholeheartedly in the idea of true love. I'd signed on for the job of creating romantic feelings between two human beings, of fulfilling individuals by bringing them together with their perfect mate.  I wore the diaper proudly, and the day I received my own bow and quiver had been one of the best days of my life.  I was happy. I'd watch the couples I had brought together frolic through sunshine, have picnics in parks, and marry each other in a ceremony that was intended to cement the love I gave them for eternity.

Then it went wrong. They weren't staying together for eternity.  They weren't even staying together past a night.  Romance and love gave way to carousing and one night stands.  And I watched each and every person that I shot with my arrow of love interpret it as lust and squander the gift I had given them for the next tumble in the sack.

I'm not gonna lie.  I became depressed. So depressed my normally pink and chubby frame lost the baby fat and became gaunt and sickly.  My diaper didn't fit.  My curly blonde locks were limp and lifeless.  My wings went from snow white to smoke grey.  I had no motivation. I could barely hold my bow, and my arrows were careening so far from their intended targets that I once had a woman fall in love with the Eiffel Tower. They even got married, which would have been a success story were it not for the fact that it was a building and she was a human being.

And then I got mad.  How dare these human beings not appreciate the gift that had been given to them by the GODS THEMSELVES?!!?!?  How dare they make my job, which I had done every day without fail since I got my wings, OBSOLETE?!? WHO THE HELL DID THEY THINK THEY WERE?

And I snapped. I sharpened the tips to my arrows, and worked on becoming real.  I concentrated, with all my might, on physically effecting the human world.  It was slow work, taking years and years to perfect.  And one day it happened.  I found a lone man sitting in front of a computer, looking at multiple windows on his screen.  One was a dating site.  The other was a streaming adult video. My anger helped send the arrow into his sternum, just missing his heart.  As he screamed, I sent another arrow through his throat, ending his miserable life. His landlord found him shortly after, but the killer, me, was nowhere to be found.  There wasn't even a murder weapon.  And I got away with it.  And I'll keep getting away with it.  WHO'S GOING TO STOP ME?

I've lost track of the number of people I have killed.  They far outnumber the number of people I helped to fall in love. I've even caught up with a few of the no longer couples that so disappointed me. They deserved this fate. They had something that I will NEVER, EVER have and I hate them for having had it and throwing it away.

    

Aunty Woovin.

I love this kid. Not only for his ability to double fist milk and water.

After a rough day at work yesterday, I put a call out to my friends for some alcoholic/revelry time. I needed some sort of distraction, as the things that were going down at the job were pretty intense and will probably change my work environment in major ways. I got an offer from my best friend to hang out for a little while with her and her two year old son, who are two of my favorite people on the planet.

I decided to head over before the alcoholic beverage consumption occurred and parked my car in their driveway at 6:45pm, just after bath time. As I got out of the car, I saw a little blonde head bobbing up and down in their front window. I heard the sound of a little boy screaming, "Woovin's here, Woovin's here!" as I made my way to the front door. As I turned the doorknob, I heard him yell, "I'm gonna hide, Mommy!" and I feigned surprise that my little pal had disappeared.

I walk out of their home after a visit and leave feeling refreshed and wonderful. I love when this little boy tells me he knew as soon as his mommy told him I was coming over that I was gonna be funny. Cause I'm always funny. His mom told me that my little guy said that when I came over, I was probably going to call him a giant. And I did. It's moments like this where I realize that I am supposed to be right here, right now, if only to be the silly aunt to this amazing little boy.

I got to hear about the dragon ride at a festival the family went to over the weekend. About how his dinosaur has a spiky tail. I got a kissed finger when I pretended to have a booboo after touching it. I ate toddler toes, then put the imaginary chewed toes back on his foot, to which he said, "Now I can't walk, Woovin!!" I got to listen to his reaction to seeing Yoda and Darth Vader on a television screen for the first time, and about how his favorite character was R-Do-Tee-Too. I heard a two year old do a Darth Vader impression, and say, "LukeIamyourfather" as one word, and a long drawn out "NOOOOOOOO!!!" in response.

Who knows what path my life will take from here. Who knows if I will ever have children of my own, or if I will be the cool aunt until my dying day. I don't know, and right now I don't really care. I do care about my little guy, and my friend, her husband and their entire family and I am blessed to be allowed into their lives. I want to make sure that he knows me, because knowing him makes me a happier, sappier person. (Obviously. See above post.) And I'm gonna do the same for his baby sister that is due in June. They're my family, and it's my job to spoil them rotten.

Tapestry.

This image is called Trapped Unicorn. I'm not that innocent.

Since I was a kid, I have loved the song Tapestry by Carole King. It's a song about a woman who has lived a life full of different colors, textures, and viewpoints. The first verse of the song always gets me. "My life has been a tapestry of rich and royal hue. An everlasting vision of the ever changing view. A wondrous woven magic, in bits of blue and gold. A tapestry to feel and see, impossible to hold." I actually JUST put it on my iPhone at work. It's definitely better than the Mariah Carey song playing on our Muzak at work.

I love the idea of life being a series of color experiences. Today I tried to put my own life into this spectrum, and it leaves a little to be desired. The past few months I've felt that my life has been a little too gray. Anxiety, depression, a feeling of being lost and general malaise have caused the last two years to be colored a light shade of gray with definite blacks and whites. Not that my life hasn't been pretty amazing. I have great friends, a wonderful family, and I am able to pay my bills. The past two years have included some pretty memorable experiences, and I don't take them for granted at all. But it seems that something is missing. Some feeling of joy, excitement, ecstasy...you name it, and it is lacking.

It was lacking even when my favorite actor said hello to me on the set of Burn Notice. Lacking when I was on a comic book convention panel for the first time ever. It's been lacking since the day I accepted a full time position in a country club when my heart and soul belonged on a stage. The day I allowed someone else's perception of me to be MY perception of me. It's been wonderful to get out of debt and have some real savings in my bank account. I have been squirreling away money for an eventual home purchase, but everything in me is screaming to not be here anymore. There's too much anger and hurt associated with a place that was once my home. I can't get past it. I want to, but I don't know how. I feel as if I am stuck in a limbo that was created for living beings. And I want out.

I want the gray to go away. I want to be able to be happy, and I hope that a change in locale will cause me to remove myself from this self destructive and negative place in which I find myself mired. I want the blues and golds. The rich and royal hues. And maybe, just maybe, if I challenge myself again and move outside my comfort zone, I'll get them back. I'll stop feeling this constant sense of not good enough, and start feeling better than.

Or, I'll be back in debt. Who knows? I've come pretty far for a chick with a Bachelor's Degree in Theater. I'm just ready for that next step, whatever it may be.

And don't judge me for loving Carole King. She's the bees.

Fiction Friday, the Fourth on the Thirteenth.

My friend gave me the suggestion of clams to inspire this post. I didn't like it. So, I reached out to my facebook people in an effort to get another word that would inspire me, as I'm basically a curmudgeon and a control freak. Their responses were even less inspiring to me. I feel full of piss and vinegar today. I don't know why. I slept well, ate good food and got to visit with some kids that I used to babysit that are now 28, 27, and 25...oh, wait. That may be why. I'M OLD, PEOPLE!

So. What word will inspire today's post? Clams, prickly pears, confidence, Postimperialism, Antidisestablishmentarianism, Defenestration, Bjork, and Paraprosdokian.

PS-I have NO IDEA WHY I WROTE THIS PARTICULAR STORY. It just came out. Interpret at will. I am not pregnant. Just in case you thought that. As I said to my boss the other day,"There's a whole process that has to occur before that can happen!"

None of the Above
by This Girl

The fluorescent lights clicked above my head as I waited impatiently for my name to be called. It had been over an hour since I had borrowed a clicky pen from a cup at the front desk and checked in for my appointment. I had already filled out my paperwork, checking the single status that they require for some reason. My legs were asleep. The anorexic magazine selection had ceased to entertain me, and the hacking cough being forced from the lungs of the man across from me was not only getting on my nerves, but had probably transmitted some sort of virus to everyone in his vicinity. I hate doctors. Hate them. And this one was about to ruin everything.

It had started simply enough. A drunken night. A one night stand in my one bedroom apartment. An expired condom. A missed period. Wishing symptoms away had not worked. Finally biting the bullet, I called my ob/gyn and scheduled an appointment. For this day. For an hour ago.

I knew in my heart what the pee test would say. I knew as well what the sperm donor would say. I had no idea, none at all, what I was going to say. To myself. To the something growing inside me. To my parents. To my friends.

A bored looking nurse in puppy dog scrubs came through the patients door, squeaking in her bright orange Crocs as she mispronounced my name. Looking at my hacking compatriot, I grabbed my overpriced handbag, smoothed out my pencil skirt that had become a little snug in the last two weeks, and followed Nurse Humane Society into the back room, my 3 inch heels clacking on the dingy linoleum. We headed to where the humiliation was about to begin: the scale. "Hop on up, honey," Pound Puppy said, impatient with the time it was taking me to drop the purse, kick off my shoes, and unclip my phone. Every ounce counts.

"My name is not honey, " I snapped as she adjusted the weight further and further over from where it had sat for the past 5 years. "Hmm, 145...that's a jump from your last visit. Let's head to room 1." After the niceties of taking temperature and blood pressure, she asked me the question. "What are you here to see the doctor for?" Wanting to correct her incorrect grammar, I told her. The snarky expression on her face softened. She lead me to the bathroom, and I stared into the toilet, cup in hand for what seemed like an eternity.

The time had come.

Ever the perfectionist, I didn't spill a single drop as I deposited my sample ( a sample that could change my world, would change my world, oh God, what was I gonna do) and exited the small sterile bathroom . Plopping on the exam table fully clothed, I waited. And waited. And waited some more.

I was about to lose my mind when a delicate knock sounded at the door. I squeaked a "come in" in a voice I did not recognize. The doctor, followed by Nurse Scooby, entered the room with a neutral expression on her face. I couldn't read her. Scrappy Doo was an enigma as well. Had these women trained at some sort of acting school to not show any emotion as they delivered news that could shatter a person's life? I wanted to scream at them to tell me...just tell me, goddamnit!

Then they did. Slowly, calmly, they told me that the test was positive. That I was pregnant. That all the worries and the sleepless nights wondering had been confirmed. They looked at me with sympathy as I lay back on the table. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't speak. They left me alone to recover myself.

Tear were welling up in my eyes. Why was this happening to me, now? When I finally had my life in order. When I had a career, and friends, and happy hours to go to. When I was alone and not ready. I wasn't ready. At all. Not for this. Not...

And then I looked around. Really looked around me. I saw pictures of babies. Diagrams of a child in the womb and advertisements for different types of formulas. Sample packs of pre natal vitamins.

And I started thinking, I can do this. I can do this.

And my life did change. It was shattered, but put back into place in a different formation. And I was right about the father. About how everyone would react. But they don't matter. None of it matters.

All that matters is you.

Fiction Friday the Fird

All right, it's supposed to say third. But I love alliteration, so SUE ME, Motherfronters!

It's been a long ass day. Got to the Kravis Center at 11am. Just got home after 12 hours in the theater with no real break. Sang well and got some compliments. Felt super awkward after the show, as I knew no one, and the friends I was waiting for were swamped with people praising them. Awkward. Understatement. Then I had a burger and a beer. And all was good with the world.

So, again Fiction Friday is happening Saturday morning. I'm sorry. Here it is, with a suggestion of the word Lantern, by the same friend who offered up Chevron last week. I'm listening to the Big Chill Soundtrack as I write. That might explain the below story.

Lantern
by This Girl

Scantily clad women standing in windows beckoned to me as I made my way through the Red Light District. Some were attractive. Many were not. They posed in provocative positions as they tried to tempt me into their storefronts, where thick red curtains would be closed to conceal from pedestrian view the sexual acrobatics that were about to ensue.

I wasn't interested. I had never been interested and never would be. With my short cropped hair, lack of makeup and lean frame, I was often mistaken for a young man when in fact, I had the same parts that these women placed on display for the world to see. It didn't bother me at all. My asexual nature had kept me safe more often than it had harmed me in my 28 years. The errand that I was currently running would require that protection.

The chill in the air caused puffs of steam to surround my head as I hurried towards the small coffee shop with a literal red light mounted next to a swinging sign. Wanting to get this over with, I grabbed a hold of the handle and was surprised when it did not turn. Looking down at my neutral black banded watch, I cursed under my breath in English, hoping to keep my cover for few more moments. Pulling a guide to Amsterdam out of my satchel, I pretended to be a baffled tourist while checking out the security system of the small building in front of me. I felt I was being watched. This feeling was confirmed as I sighted a camera swiveling in my direction. Knowing that my errands success hinged on immediacy, I decided to improvise.

Improvising consisted of grabbing a stacked chair off a table in front of me and throwing it through the window.

Not my most subtle moment, but I knew that the current crop of baddies who dealt in trafficking humans would be caught off guard by my actions. I also knew that I had backup a mere 3 blocks away. What I couldn't handle with surprise and the two .500 Smith and Wesson's I had concealed beneath my neutral peacoat could be handled by my comrades and their testosterone fueled justice.

Unbuttoning my coat and squatting as masculine shouts arose from the interior of the coffee shop, I grabbed the handles of Peace and Understanding and flicked off the safety on both of my beloved guns. I felt a smile cross my face. Anyone looking on would have recognized the smirk of a berserker ready for a bloodbath. Reigning that side of me in, I started counting the pages of paperwork I would need to fill out if I actually killed someone today, and launched myself through the busted window.

It had begun.

The shortsighted and comfortable douchebags tried to reach for their weapons. They failed. A well placed shot in the shoulder or leg incapacitated them enough for me to make my way further into the room. High pitched screams joined the grunting and mewling from the wounded heavies by the bar. Men's voices roared behind me, telling anyone with a weapon to drop them, now. Realizing that I was no longer the only white hat in the room, I made my way towards the piercing sounds. Turning a corner, I was fired on by a roided out jerk in a grey T-shirt and jeans. His shot went so wide I reflexively shot his leg out from under him and waited for his graceless plummet to the ground as I shot the other one in the exact same spot above the knee.

A hand grabbed me from behind, pulling me back. Swinging, I almost kicked the guy in the balls before I realized he was on my side. Signaling me without speaking, he indicated that the building was surrounded and to proceed with caution. Caution is not my strong suit, and I've lived when many would have kicked it. I signaled him back, one middle finger extended to show what I thought of his idea.

Barreling around the corner, I saw that Roid Boy had been dragged out of the hallway. Streams of brilliant red blood showed the path the big man had taken. The smell of blood in my nostrils and the sounds of scared women caused me to see red. I ran for the door that closed above the scarlet streaks and kicked it open while staying low. A gunshot rang out but passed above me by several feet. Pulling up Peace, I didn't even aim, but fired at the man who had attempted to kill me. I didn't care where it hit. I only cared about the teenaged girls and slight women all tied together in the corner of the room, sobbing and moaning.

I hit him. Of course I hit him. I never miss. Never. It's not boasting or bragging. It's the truth. The only casualty in the entire operation died with a bullet in the middle of his forehead. I made sure the women were ok from a slight distance, then turned to the man I had flipped off moments earlier, and said one word to him that indicated I was done with the job that had been assigned to me.

"Later."