ImpEx
Paulio's - 2006
Monday,
May 15th
The house stood
abandoned on an isolated road. Rowan
paced back and forth in the foyer, a pair of industrial strength scissors
clutched in her hand, as she waited.
Sweat dripped down her forehead and burned her eyes. She was certain she could go through with it,
all doubt, all anxiety, all trepidations, purged. She wasn't the same person she was just six
weeks ago. No one is who they used to be, no one, she thought. My friends never were. They have left me, lied to me, used me, or
never even knew me. That fucking bitch
sat there, listened to my hopes, dreams, and then stole them.
Just six weeks ago,
Rowan hadn't yet begun to unravel. Just
six weeks ago, she didn't understand the strange voice inside her head.
Tuesday,
April 4th
Rowan was distracted,
thinking about Velvet, who had stopped in just moments ago to pick up an
order. She felt awash with jealousy.
She hated most young
women. Their innocence disgusted her,
and she didn't find it the least bit cute.
Especially that ugly bitch Velvet, ever since Trevor had started dating
her. Her dirty cunt stank clear across
the room. Her skin was pale and thin,
like an alien's; her hair was like Lucille Ball's. When she dropped her pants, her pussy lips
cried out, "Oh, Ricky!"
Rowan wished she was as
pretty as Velvet, but she knew she never would be. She knew that when she was fucking Trevor, he
was thinking of Velvet, because that's whom Rowan was thinking of. Who wouldn't?
Velvet was Hollywood beautiful.
Rowan saw herself as ugly, and she thought that was why no one liked
her. It didn't matter, nor did she. She hated herself.
She went to church with
Trevor so that he would love her. He
didn't. He didn't hate her. He didn't care. Why did she think that would work? How naïve she was. While she was there, sitting in the drab,
cold chapel, she called out to Jesus.
She prayed, Jesus, help me, I beg
you!
He didn't answer.
The truth was, she
wanted Trevor back. He loved her at one
time, she was pretty sure, but nothing was for certain, and he may not
have. He didn't anymore. She wished he would talk to her. She wished someone would.
Oh,
Jesus, rid me of my pain that I might at least have pleasant dreams, no more
nightmares.
Again, Jesus didn't
answer.
She felt someone
staring at her. She looked up from the
LCD control panel of the copy machine.
The Customer Service Supervisor, Vanessa, had yet again abandoned her
post at the full-service counter. Rowan
spotted her out in self-serve, doing Ollie's job, helping one of the regulars,
a little old lady name Rosemary, make copies of yet another missing cat flier.
Jesus,
Rowan thought, how many cats has that old
hag lost over the years? Ten? Twenty?
What's the deal? Does she live next
door to a Chinese restaurant? And where
the hell is Ollie? I'm never gonna get
this order done on time!
She looked behind
her. The machine operator, Purvis, had
stepped out the back door for a cigarette break. She couldn't just leave the line of
customer's hanging, so she went up to the counter herself. "Hi!" she said with a smile. "How can I help you?"
The man was on his cell
phone. He said, "I have something
here." His nostrils flared out as
he spoke.
"You need to pick
it up?" Rowan said.
"No. I need you to make it," the man said,
frustrated that Rowan couldn't read his mind.
"Oh, you have
something in the archives, then?"
"Yes. I've told you that twice already. Why don't you listen to what I'm
saying?"
"I'm sorry,
sir. I must've misunderstood you. What name is that under?"
"Premier Trucking Company."
"And the file
name?"
"I don't
know."
"Is it the only
one we've archived for you?"
"No."
"Excuse me for
just a moment while I look up your files," she said, and stepped back to
the nearest computer.
She opened the archives
and started a search, but couldn't find his files. "I don't see your files in here. Did you fill out an Archival Agreement
Form?"
He crossed his arms
across his chest and snorted, "Yeah."
Rowan looked in the
store's record book and found his paperwork.
It was incomplete, never signed by the customer, yet stamped
"Already Archived." Shit, she
thought. She looked in the archives
again under both his company name and last name, but couldn't find his files
anywhere.
Finally, Vanessa
returned. She remembered taking the
order for typesetting the previous week and suggested that the graphic
designers might still have a copy.
The graphic designers
were in India, and the only established communication was through e-mail, so
Rowan sent them a message and waited for the file. She approached her customer, and explained
what was going on. "I'm so
sorry," she said.
He said, "My
cousin said he had a job archived here last week. Maybe you should look and see if you lost it,
too."
"Sure. What name is that under?"
"Roscoe
Jones."
The great disappearing
Ollie returned and started talking to Purvis, who had finally come back from
break. He was trying to keep his voice
down, but Rowan could hear everything he was saying.
"You're not gonna
believe this shit." Ollie
said. "This woman asked me to help
her out on one of the computers. She
said the mouse wasn't working. So, I go
over there, and this dumb bitch is actually waving the mouse in front of the
screen, like that's going to do something.
I'm thinking, Goddamn, lady, are you retarded?"
By the time Rowan
located Roscoe's files, the designers had transmitted a copy of the missing
file. She approached her customer. "Yes, sir. Roscoe Jones's job is right where it belongs,
and your file has just arrived from the designers. Can I take your order now?"
"Yeah,
Roscoe," the man said into his cell phone.
"They got your stuff. Yeah,
go ahead."
Rowan wasn't sure if he
was talking to her when he said to go ahead or if he was talking to Roscoe, so
she went ahead and keyed the information she knew into the computer and waited,
praying the buggy program wouldn't crash on her this time, so she could just be
through with this nightmare.
"I said go
ahead!" the man said.
"How many do you
need?"
"When will it be
ready?"
"That depends on
what you're ordering. What do you
need?"
"I need those
three piece ones."
"We can have that
for you in the morning."
"Why can't you do
that for me right now?" he said in a loud and irate tone.
"Because they have
to be glued and the glue has to dry. We
usually do those overnight so they have time to properly set."
"Why do you tell
me something different than the last person who took my order?"
"Well, when do you
need them, and I'll see what I can do?"
"No! You tell me why you're telling me something
different than everybody else? Hey
Roscoe, I gotta go," he said and put his cell phone away.
Rowan said, "I'm
going to let someone else help you now, because I don't think I can." She turned to Vanessa. "Do you mind?"
"Sure,"
Vanessa said.
"I don't want to
place my order with her. I just want to
talk to you!" he yelled at Rowan.
"Why can't you take my order?"
"I tried, but I
can't seem to communicate with you, so I thought someone else could do a better
job."
"Why can't you
communicate with me?"
"Well, for one
thing, you were on the phone."
"I wasn't on the
phone, I hung up. Why don't you want to
take my order? You took my order last
week."
"I'm sorry, but
you're mistaken. Vanessa took your
typesetting order."
"No it was
you. In five months from now, when you
have a new job, you will be happy, but you're hurting ImpEx by running off all
their business, and it's not fair to them."
Rowan shoved her hands
into her purple apron. Since she had to
wear the most hideous uniform to work every day, she just didn't care what she
looked like anymore. Her once beautiful,
groomed hair was now tangled and greasy.
Her big verdant-brown eyes used to sparkle with a love for life. Now, they were dull, distant, and full of
despair. She turned her back to the man
and walked out the back door.
She walked to her car
and lit the half-smoked blunt from the ashtray.
Whatever it takes to get through
the day without killing anyone, she thought.
She felt
flustered. When she started working at
what was then called Paulio's to help pay for college, she had dreams of
earning a Ph.D. in Greek and Roman Classics, but she couldn't make ends meet,
so she worked longer and longer hours.
The hours ate into her good grades, destroying her chance for a scholarship,
and the money still wasn't enough to cover tuition, so part-time turned into
full-time. She liked her job back
then. The pay was good, the stress low,
and the respect high. She convinced
herself it would be for just a little while, that she could still read in her
spare time, and that she could go back to college one day.
She didn't realize how
tired she would be at the end of a long day, or how it would eat away at her
soul and devour her dreams. Then, one
day, she woke up thirty years old, and Paulio's private owner sold the company
to Imperial Express, or ImpEx, a mega-corporation, and the job went to
shit. No more profit shares, no more
raises, no more respect. What could she
do but smoke weed, drink booze, and keep going?
Wednesday,
April 12th
Ollie walked up to
Rowan and said, "We have a very unpleasant customer in self-serve, using
the photo kiosk. She just called me a
dick, and now, she wants a manager."
Vanessa was on a break,
so even though Rowan was the Production Supervisor, she went to self-service to
help the customer anyway.
The woman was easily
six feet tall with football player shoulders and a deep voice. "I need a copy of this picture, and that
mother fucker won't do it for me," she huffed.
"This machine is
for self-service use. I can show you how
to do it." Rowan spoke in a calm,
even tone.
"You don't raise
your voice to me! I'm the customer! You don't tell me, I tell you! Just hurry up, and do it for me! I'm in a hurry!"
Another customer piped
in and said, "Why don't you tell her what you told the other guy. You're in a hurry 'cause you left your baby
in the car! Why don't you go get your
baby?"
The woman screamed,
"That's right! My baby's in the
car! Hurry your scrawny ass up and make
my fuckin' copy!"
"Ma'am,"
Rowan said, "You're being hostile and aggressive, and we don't tolerate
that kind of behavior. You need to leave
now. If you come back, it will be
considered trespassing."
She swayed her head
like a copperhead ready to strike.
"I ain't leavin'!"
"Look, I'm calling
the police, and you can take it up with them."
"I'm coming back
up here tonight, and I'm gonna cut you!"
Rowan walked back
behind the counter to call the cops, but the woman ran out the door, so she
didn't.
"What a nasty
bitch!" Ollie said. "But look, I printed out the picture she
had scanned. At least we got that."
Rowan posted the
photograph of the woman at the counter with instructions to call the police
without hesitation should she return.
Afterwards, Rowan
needed a break, so she went to her car to get high.
I
can't live through many more days like this, she
thought. A tired fool I am! Her back
hurt, and she felt crazy in the head.
She felt so worthless. If failure
was a part of success, then boy oh boy was she successful. She couldn't see a way out of the circle of
hell called ImpEx Paulio's. They took
everything until there was nothing left of her, and she didn't know who she was
anymore. All her dreams were dead or
dying. She angered from ache and ached
from anger, that sour fist that rises up the esophagus and eats away one's
soul.
She never got to have
fun. Her only friends worked with
her. They were never off when she was,
so she never got to hang out with them.
If only she could go out and meet somebody new, she could forget about
Trevor. All she ever did was work, work,
work, and after she paid the bills and boozed and smoked away her misery, there
was never any money left for her travel fund, and oh, how she longed to see
Rome! She worked to drink and drank to
work. Was passing out all life had to
offer her? Hit me again, God. I'm starting
to like it, she thought. The world
was rotten like Jesus, like any zombie that died, crawled from his grave, and
screamed, "Brains!" She just
had to accept the fact that God was either cruel, not all-powerful, or all
together didn't exist.
Regardless, she prayed
to any god who would listen. I can't go on. Please let me die. I can't go on. Please let me die. I can't go on. Please let me die. Kill me.
Kill me. Kill me. I am already dead in this pained body. I am dead.
I am dead. I am dead.
"Nex immanens
est."
The words startled
Rowan. They seemed to come from both
within her and beyond her, not quite an internal voice, but not quite external
either. Its tone was masculine and calm,
as if simply stating a fact. It had been
a while since Rowan had studied Latin, but she was pretty sure the voice had
said 'Death is imminent.'
Rowan wasn't frightened
by the words, but rather comforted. If
death was imminent, so be it. She
welcomed death. Perhaps her prayer would
be answered after all.
Vanessa pecked on the
passenger side window, then opened the door and climbed inside. "Why are you crying?"
"I didn't realize
I was. That woman, she was just so
mean. She said she was gonna cut
me."
"Really? What a psycho."
"I think I need a
change of pace. I'm gonna apply for that
open position as a delivery driver over at the ImpEx hub."
"Oh really?"
"Yeah.
When I was a kid, and the mail order stuff from the Sears catalog would
arrive, I would get it off the front porch and pretend to deliver it to my
mom. I loved seeing the delight in her
eyes, as I would hand her the package. I
read somewhere that people enjoy doing work that they pretended to do as a
child. Plus, the hours are better."
"How's the
pay?"
"Pretty good, I
think."
"That sounds like
a great idea."
Thursday,
April 20th
The store manager,
Elmer, called Rowan into his office.
Rowan was dreading the inevitable bitch out for whatever imperfection he
felt the need to denigrate this time.
When she first started
working for Paulio's, she loved her boss.
He was laid back, and he took care of his Paulio's family. Then he met Jade, a high riding bitch, and
they got married. Slowly, he
changed. He was never good enough for
his wife, so nothing was ever good enough for him. She walked all over him, crushing his
backbone and stomping his balls, until all sense of strength and leadership
left him. When the previous supervisor,
Grigori, fired Edgar, whose baby was terminally ill, Elmer knew it was too
cruel. He knew Edgar was rightfully
distracted and deserved some slack, but someone had to be held accountable, so
he didn't object. Rowan lost any
remaining respect for Elmer then.
Regardless, after
Grigori died and Elmer offered Rowan Grigori 's position, she took it. She didn't want to work third shift anymore
without Edgar to keep her company. Elmer
shut the door, and started talking.
Rowan was pleasantly surprised by what he had to say.
She had spent a good
deal of time reorganizing the production department to create a smooth
workflow. As a result, she won the
Employee of the Year Award, three paid days off, five hundred dollars, and a
framed certificate.
Monday,
April 24th
Rowan couldn't relax on
her days off because she dreaded returning to work so much. She didn't want to face the mundane existence
that awaited her. When she arrived, she
discovered that Vanessa, jealous over Rowan's award, pitched a hissy fit to the
boss and made a real ass of herself.
Then, under the guise of cleaning and organizing, she wrecked the
full-service production area, undoing all that Rowan had been rewarded for.
She rearranged
machines, computers, and cabinets, destroying the workflow. Entire cabinets' contents had been dumped
into paper case boxes and abandoned.
Boxes of supplies were stacked up everywhere because no one knew where
to put stuff. The boxes and bags were no
longer near the package and price area.
The toner for the production machines was missing, lost somewhere in the
shuffle. Vanessa even removed the
spinner on the paper carousel so that it would no longer rotate.
Vanessa, who had the
day off, sent Rowan an email explaining how she, too, applied for the delivery
driver job at the hub, and signed off with the line 'May the best woman win.'
Rowan kept her chin up
when Paulio's doubled the size of the store and stayed open throughout
construction, with dust everywhere, half the machines without power, and the
customer's screaming, "You shouldn't be open if you can't do what I want
right now!" She endured the ten
thousand dollar a year pay cut when they took away her profit shares, but this,
this was personal. This was a slap in
the face, and she felt furious and betrayed.
Friday,
April 28th
The interview started
out great. Rowan thought she was sure to
get the job, since she had just won the Employee of the Year Award. She smiled, sat on the edge of her seat with perfect
posture, and rested her hands in her lap, just like the book on interviewing
had coached her to do. She practiced all
weekend, and had answers ready for anything they threw at her, until they
dropped a bomb on her. Vanessa had
interviewed first, and she told them Rowan was a drunk and a pothead. When they asked Rowan about it, she was so
embarrassed and flustered that she didn't' know what to say, and the guilt was
written all over her face.
Rowan had prayed to any god that would listen
for a better job, an interesting job, a job that couldn't be performed by a
retarded monkey fetus. When she was a
child, she could be anything, limited only by her imagination. Now that she was an adult, she could be
nothing but a copy shop employee. As a
child, she controlled her world. As an
adult, she could not even control herself.
She gave up on getting a better job.
Now, she just prayed to be as dumb as a retarded monkey fetus so that
she wouldn't realize how stupid her job was.
"Nex immanens
est." That voice again, calling out
to Rowan, comforting her with its dismal promise. She held on to that prophecy and let it
envelope her like a fresh grave.
Thursday,
May 11th
Rowan thought the woman
she was helping could be Vanessa's twin.
She had a wrinkled face speckled with age spots. Her black hair was streaked with gray, and
she was overweight.
"I need one of
each file, right now, in color," the woman said.
"Let me see what
you've got here," Rowan said. She
took the disk back to the computer and looked at the files, nine huge Power
Point presentations. "Your files
are really large. It's gonna take a
couple of hours," she said.
"Well, I really
only need one of those files right now.
It's called ‘The Plan.’"
Rowan stepped back to
the computer, printed out the one file, and then returned to the customer.
"I need ten copies
of each," the woman said.
"Okay. Do you want to see a proof first?"
"What's
that?"
"We print out one
of each for you to look at, and, then, if it all looks good, we print the
remainder."
"No."
"Okay. I just need you to sign a proof waiver and to
let you know that you will be responsible for the bill regardless of whether or
not the copies meet your standards. The
price is going to be sixty-nine cents per page, plus a one-time rip fee of ten
dollars."
"Oh. Well then, I do want to see a proof."
"Okay, you can
come back in a couple of hours to see the proof. Here's the file you needed now."
"I need one of
each file now."
"It's physically
impossible to make the machine process that much work so quickly. Your files are huge. It will take two hours for the machine to rip
them. I thought I explained that to you,
and you said you only needed 'The Plan' right now."
"All the files are
named The Plan, and then they have a number after them. I need them all now."
"You can take the disk
out to self-serve and print those out yourself, but I can't do it for you right
now. In self-serve, you can print them
straight off your disk. If I do it for
you, it has to rip to the copy machine's computer, be converted to a PDF, and
then rip from that computer to the actual copy machine. It takes a long time."
"But I still need
the additional ten copies of each."
The phone started
ringing.
"Print what you
need, and bring the disk back to me, and I will get you the rest later this
evening."
The phone continued
ringing.
"Can you help
me?"
"I need to answer
the phone. Ollie's out there. He can give you a hand."
The woman told Ollie
she had a card for the self-serve machines with thirteen dollars on it, and
asked if that would be enough.
"No," Ollie
said.
"Can I use your
employee card and pay when I'm done?"
"Yeah, sure,"
he said and handed her his card.
She printed out a few,
and then decided it was taking too long.
She came back to the counter. She
handed Rowan Ollie's employee card. "That's
taking too long. I need my card with
thirteen dollars on it back."
"I don't know what
you're talking about," Rowan said.
"My card with
thirteen dollars on it. That boy that
was helping me, he must have it."
Rowan looked at
Ollie. "Do you have her card?"
"I never touched
her card. I just let her use mine."
"Can you go look
around where she was working and see if maybe she dropped it?" She addressed the woman. "Let me go ahead and take your order
while he looks for your card."
"You already took
my order."
"No, I
didn't. We just talked about your
order. I never entered it into the
computer."
"Well I know you
took my order already, and I don't want to pay for this job twice."
"I promise you,
you won't have to pay for the job twice.
Ollie and I are the only ones here, and I'm not going to run your job
twice."
"I want to know
how much it will cost."
"How many pages
are in each file?"
"I want one of
everything."
"Let me print off
a screen shot to get a list of the files, and get a page count on each so I can
get you a price." Rowan took the
disk back to the computer and printed out a screen shot.
Ollie returned. "I didn't find any cards. Maybe you put it in a different slot in your
wallet than usual, or maybe it's in a pocket."
Rowan returned to the
counter and showed the list to the woman.
"I don't need all
these files," she said. "I
don't know what some of these are."
"Which ones do you
need?"
"You said I could
see a proof at six thirty. I just want
to go."
"I need to know
which files you want me to print."
"I want my card
with thirteen dollars on it back."
"Ollie doesn't
have your card. He never touched
it."
"How much is this
going to cost?"
"I'll just print
out one of each file for the proof, and when you look at those and pick out
which of the files you want ten each of, I'll give you a total price then,
okay? It's going to be sixty-nine cents
per page and a one-time rip fee of ten dollars."
"Okay," she
said and left.
The woman returned at
six-thirty to see her proof.
"I'm very
upset!" she said.
"What's
wrong?"
"You printed out
the files I didn't want."
"Well, just tell
me which one's you don't want, and we'll take them off the order, and you won't
have to pay for them."
"Where are my two
cards?"
"What two
cards?"
"The one with
thirteen dollars on it and the one that boy sold me with twenty-six dollars on
it. I left them with you when I placed
the order."
Ollie joined the
conversation. "Ma'am, I never sold
you a card with twenty-six dollars on it.
And I never even touched your thirteen dollar card." Ollie happened to be holding another empty
card in his hand, and the woman reached across the counter and snatched it from
him.
"That's my
card!" she said.
"Sure, you can
have that card." Ollie said.
"Where's my card
with thirteen dollars on it?"
"How about if I
just take thirteen dollars off your bill?"
Rowan said.
"That will be
fine," the woman said.
"Okay," Rowan
said. "It's going to be
seventy-nine dollars and forty-nine cents."
"That's too
expensive. I was just getting this done
to see if it would be cheaper to go buy ink jet cartridges."
Rowan saw red. She imagined herself opening the supply
drawer, taking out a pair of industrial strength scissors, and shoving them
into the bitch's stomach. She pulled the
scissors upwards, ripping flesh with the blunt side of the blade. The woman's guts spilled out onto the
counter. Rowan scooped them up. They hung over the edges of her hands and
dripped blood as she walked back to the copier.
She dropped the guts onto the glass, set the copier to make one hundred
copies, and then rang up the woman's corpse.
Nex
immanens est, Rowan thought. Why use
the word ‘nex,’ not just ‘death,’ but rather ‘violent’ death? Why not use the word ‘mors’ or ‘letum?’ There was no peaceful slumber awaiting
her, only a painful, gory demise.
Rowan laughed. "You know what, cunt, go fuck
yourself. I quit!"
Monday,
May 15th
The house stood abandoned on an isolated
road. Rowan paced back and forth in the
foyer, a pair of industrial strength scissors clutched in her hand, as she
waited. Sweat dripped down her forehead
and burned her eyes. She was certain she
could go through with it, all doubt, all anxiety, all trepidations,
purged. She wasn't the same person she
was just six weeks ago. No one is who they used to be, no one,
she thought. My friends never were. They have
left me, lied to me, used me, or never even knew me. That fucking bitch sat there, listened to my
hopes, dreams, and then stole them.
Just six weeks ago,
Rowan hadn't yet begun to unravel. Just
six weeks ago, she didn't understand the strange voice inside her head, but she
did now.
Rowan had prayed to any
god who would listen, and one did, an ancient, neglected god, delighted to have
a servant, a god whose rage was fueled by the anvil chorus of the working
class, a symphony composed by corporate greed, misdeeds, and injustice,
perpetuated ad infinitum by the need for more of the all mighty dollar, that
green beast bore on the backs of broken men, leaving behind only pollution and
void.
'Nex immanens est.'
Rowan had misunderstood, confusing the word 'immanensimminens.' The voice was not saying 'Death is imminent,'
but rather 'Death is immanent.'
Rowan bowed her will to
the god within, and she became his vengeful hand.
Finally, she heard the
rumble of the ImpEx truck coming up the drive.
Shortly, there was a knock on the door as poor, damned Vanessa sought the
required signature for the package Rowan had shipped to the abandoned house.
Rowan flung open the
door.
A look of confusion
crossed Vanessa's face. "What are
you doing here?" she asked.
Rowan lunged forward
and stabbed Vanessa in the stomach, twisting and driving the blade with her
rage. Hot blood spilled out of the gash
and soaked Rowan's hands. There was so
much more gore than Rowan imagined, and the adrenaline, the thrill, was so much
greater than anything she had ever felt in her life.
Vanessa shrieked with
terror and agony. She gasped and then
fell to her knees. She thought about her
children, and how she would never see them again.
"You'll never see
your children again," Rowan said, as if reading her mind. She pulled the scissors from the wound,
dragging guts out with them, and then, she gouged out Vanessa's eyes.
She dragged the body
further inside. Then, she went out to
the truck, and retrieved packages of various sizes. She opened each carefully, as a grandmother
on Christmas day, and emptied each box of its contents.
She enjoyed the grisly
job of dismembering her felled nemesis, and took hours to do so, as a
mischievous boy who'd just discovered the joy of mutilating his sister's Barbie
dolls. She removed the vital organs,
with all the glee and curiosity of a young scientist dissecting her first frog.
When she had chopped
Vanessa away into sizable chunks, she carefully wrapped each piece inside
bubble wrap, as if wrapping a birthday present for a dear friend. She liked the way Vanessa's nose squished up
beneath the clear plastic, making her look like a pig.
Rowan then put each piece of Vanessa into a
different box, covered them with packing peanuts, and taped them shut. She couldn't get the torso to fit inside the
biggest box. You always did have a big ass, Rowan thought as she unwrapped it,
whacked it down to a smaller size, and repacked it.
She cleaned herself up,
and then put on her old ImpEx uniform.
She put the new packages on the truck and delivered them. A woman, anticipating some nostalgic trinket
from e-bay, instead received Vanessa's severed head. A man, expecting a trunk full of memorabilia,
received Vanessa's trunk. An old man,
expecting medication, received the new kidney he prayed for every night. An old pervert, anxiously awaiting Carmen
Luvana's latex pussy and ass, received instead Vanessa's mutilated cunt.
She pawned the
confiscated junk and used the cash to fund her new career. From that day forward, no ImpEx delivery
driver was safe, as she slaughtered, dismembered, and delivered them all across
the country.
Rowan had found her
calling. She was a stellar employee, a
manager par excellence. She saw to it
that the other drivers were put into their work as never before. She did them on time or did them free.
In this was salvation.
Rowan was no longer
human, but terror incarnate, born of the dead and dying dreams of all those who
lived within the borders of the United States of Americorpse. She was a new horror, the likes of which had
only before roamed on the screens and pages of the horror obsessed Americorpse
public, now a regular part of the news.
She was more than a monster; she was a lesson.
Mercurius smiled upon
her and her deeds, and she was not caught, for her god was a god of commerce,
of giving all to the consumer, and at a low, low price.
No comments:
Post a Comment