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Two Pink Flamingos; II, POTW
Topic Started: Jun 23 2016, 04:48 PM (25 Views)
Grace Goeren

Hey, quick question.

What can I...whoa…

Something wrong?

Nah, it’s just that we don’t normally get chicks in here.

Huh.

I mean not that you’re a chick or anything.

You saying I’m not a woman? You saying I look like a tranny?

NO! I mean, you’re a chick like...you’re a girl. But you’re not like a chick girl.

So I’m a girl but just not a chick girl.

Right.

How’s that hole you’re digging for yourself?

Pretty nice, pretty spacious. Thinking about bringing a futon down here.

Grace smiles at the bumbling charm of the young sales clerk behind the counter. He’s goofy, but in that innocent way that she hasn’t encountered much in her life.

So rather than make myself seem like an even bigger dork than I already have, what can I do for you?

Do you guys sell lighter fluid?

Do you want a baby blaze, fiery furnace or The Gates of Hell?

Oooo. Give me the Gates of Hell, please.

Aisle 5. Right next to the barbecues and lawn furniture.

Sweet. Thanks.

Any time.

He’s cute, she thinks to herself as she pulls the hoodie back over her head and makes the journey deeper into the store. Such a strange feeling. To be able to even notice that. That’s the type of stuff that girls her age talk about. Or so she’s heard. Crushes and whatnot. Hanging out after school. Talking about what they’re doing this weekend.

A luxury that she was never able to afford until right now.

Her mind, for the first time since she was five, is silent.

There is no growling negativity. No screaming. No hiding.

Grace is Grace. And she’s in control.

This is a very liberating moment for the young EWA competitor. It needs to be properly recognized and celebrated.

She calmly makes her way through this small hardware store on the outskirts of Boston, having driven home from New York City a few days ago and never wanting to look back. She remembers the awkward conversation she had with the owners of the condo she was renting. Awkward for them. They thought she was there indefinitely, a bonafide sports star does wonders for property values. Turns out “indefinitely” only meant a month or so.

Too bad.

So sad.

Now kindly go screw yourselves.

Piling all of her belongings into the back of a rented van, she made the drive to Boston in blissful, amazing, wonderful silence.

Grace didn’t want the radio on or the windows down, despite the heat. She just wanted to focus on the quiet. On the long desired peace that she has finally achieved.


Here it is.

Grace spots what she came into this store for, grabbing the largest bottle of lighter fluid on the dingy shelf. She makes her way to turn back towards the register, but stops as she spots a pair of pink lawn flamingo ornaments sitting next to the charcoal grills. She leans down to examine them, pulling her long blonde hair back behind her ear as she turns the box o’ flamingos over with a smile.

Yeah, these’ll do. Fuck yeah. This is going to be great. HEY! REGISTER DUDE!

The young store clerk from upfront screams back at her, seemingly not caring too much about keeping things professional.

YO!

YOU GOT ANY MORE LAWN ORNAMENTS?

THERE SHOULD BE SOME FLAMINGOS…

NAW, I MEAN MORE! I ALREADY GOT THE FLAMINGOS.

TURN AROUND AND TAKE TWO STEPS TOWARDS YOUR RIGHT.

Breaking into another smile from their little game, Grace does as she is instructed and sees another wall of lawn ornaments sitting in front of her. If they were any closer, they would have bit her.

THANKS!

WELCOME! I LIKE ALL OF THIS YELLING BY THE WAY!

ME TOO!

Greedily grabbing a few garden gnomes, gargoyles, fairies and cats, Grace trudges back to the register and plops them all down on the table in front of her. The young sales clerk takes step back but manages to catch a gargoyle from spilling to the floor.

Wow, you must really like your lawn.

Well you know, a girl has to accessorize. Plus, look at these little guys. Have you ever seen a sassier garden gnome? Mother fucker has sunglasses on. Super chill.

Much relax.

Fuck yeah!

Grace digs into the front pocket of her hoodie for her black leather wallet, tossing out an empty box of clove cigarettes into the trash bin in the process. The clerk starts scanning the items, but he keeps one eye on Grace as he quickly bags them up for her.

Oh yeah, the lighter fluid too. Fuck me, I almost forgot.

Grace runs back to the aisle and snags what she initially came in for, slamming it down on the table with a lot of force.

Easy, you’ll cause an explosion.

I don’t think that’s how these things work.

Oh they do. I’m an expert you know. I went through two whole weeks of training to wear this orange vest. I know everything there is to know about home improvement. That’s why I work at this shithole.

I thought you just did it for the money.

That and for easy access to turnip seeds. I’m a turnip whore.

Grace can’t help herself and actually laughs aloud at the joke. This boy. He’s actually flirting with Grace. So incredibly strange, she’s not sure how to even react to it. All her life she’s either been forced or coerced into every relationship she’s ever had with a man. The thought of actually having an innocent, run-of-the-mill encounter with someone her own age is as foreign to her as learning to speak Chinese.

Still...it’s actually kinda nice.

To be treated like a human.

And not a weapon. Or a thing. Or nothing at all.


Well, don’t let me keep you from your garden, you veggie slut.

You’re not keeping me from anything. Honestly talking to you has been the best part of my day. You go to school around here?

Uhh...no. No. I’m just in town...visiting. I go to school in Washington DC.

Whoa, you’re pretty far from home.

That’s a good thing.

College or high school?

What?

You said you go to school. Are you in high school or college?

Clever boy, Grace thinks to herself. Trying to finagle more information out of her. Very smooth. Still, the question stings at Grace more than it should. She dropped out of high school to pursue her wrestling career. Can’t say it hasn’t panned out though. Most 18 year olds don’t have a loaded checking account or a travel stipend. In less than a year, she’s done more than most of her schoolmates would do in a lifetime. Still. The question lingers.

High school. Well. Sorta. I just...graduated. I’m not in high school anymore.

Me either. I just graduated last month. You thinking about going to college here?

I don’t know. Maybe. Guess I still have a few more places to visit before I decide what to do.

Well, I think you should totally go to UMASS or Boston College.

Why is that?

So I could see you around town.

How convenient for you. Trust me, I’ll be around. I’m kinda based in Boston and...I...well...it's complicated.

No problems. I’m pretty uncomplicated so that works for me.

Slyly pulling the hoodie back over her head, Grace slides through her credit card and grabs hold of the bagged lawn ornaments and lighter fluid.

Take a chance.

Make a connection. A real one. Not for any personal gain or advantage.

Hold your breath.

My name is Grace.

Jack.

Nice to meet you.

Yeah you too. See you around, maybe?

Mayhaps.

With a wink, Grace exits the store and lets out a giddy exhale as the door closes behind her. The small, simple social interaction...something she’s struggled with for so long...went so right.

A thought creeps into her mind that maybe, just maybe...she could be happy in this new life. With friends. A job she adores and excels at. A father who loves her.

There is only one thing that she knows at this moment in time.

You can’t just sit back and let things happen to you.

Make them happen.

No matter the cost.

Grace stomps across the parking lot and into the rented van from New York City, tossing the items into the back seat. After the van kicks over, she closes her eyes momentarily to recognize that the only thing she hears is the gentle hum of the engine. She starts off down the road, the night slowly creeping in over the horizon.

Grace Goeren knows where she’s going.

She finds the spot, already planned out before she made this trip.

She’s already been here several times earlier in the day. Just had to run out for those last minute supplies for the ceremony.

Pulling the van over the side of the road, she scans her surroundings. Not a soul on the road tonight. She’s far enough out from the city where the only people who wander this far out are farmers and meth heads. She can take out either if they dare to interrupt her plans here tonight.

Grabbing a hold of the bags from the store from the back seat, she makes her way out into the woods that run along the road she stopped on, stepping over a few fallen trees and through some heavy thicket. She finally reaches her destination, a clearing that must have been used as someone’s campsite fairly recently. There is a wooden picnic table set up near one of the trees and a clearing that probably accommodated someone’s tent. In the middle of the clearing is a giant ring of rocks, obviously used as a large scale fire pit for some massive party.

In the center of the fire pit are bags upon bags of clothes.

Grace’s clothes.

Elegant dresses and chic skirts. Designer jeans and imported blouses from Venice. Handbags and jewelry. $1,000 pairs of shoes and lingerie that costs more than mortgages back home in DC.

All of the things she’s obtained since signing her EWA contract and lavishly spending upon herself in an attempt to fill the void.

All strewn haphazardly betwixt the stones.

Going to work, Grace pops open the lighter fluid and douses the clothing with the entire canister. She tosses the can in the center of the circle and then opens up the rest of the bags. She dutifully sets up the pink flamingos first, smiling back at their grinning faces.


I’m going to call you Mario and you Luigi.

She sets them up close to the fire pit, but still outside the circle of rocks. She then works on the garden gnomes. And the fairies. And the gargoyles. And the cats. Lining them up around the fire pit like a kitschy Stonehenge, Grace takes a step back and admires her work.

What she was sits in the circle.

She clears a good amount of distance and steps back.

A match is struck.

She watches the flame burn at the tip for a few moments, dancing in the gentle wind.

Goodbye, Grace.

The match seems to fly in the air forever, casually tossed from her fingertips. The moment it strikes the doused clothing, the entirety goes up in a massive pyro of flames. The fire scorches what used to be Grace Goeren. All of her decadence and style.

Gone in a flash.

What remains is what always has been.

What will always be.

A dull buzzing from her pocket distracts her. She feels her phone silently vibrating as she hasn’t turned the thing on since she left the city. She plucks it from her pocket and glances down at the name, not showing any emotion at what appears in front of her.


Mr. Gates.

She waits for it to go to voicemail. Just like the countless other times he’s called her since Battlelines. After the red button flashes to let her know a message has been recorded, she hits play.

Gracey! It's Duane. Listen, dear, I know you're in a bad place right now, and I want you to know that I'm here for you, okay? Just...get ahold of me, okay? I'm...I'm worried about you, Grace. This is a…

Grace stops the message. Her expression did not change the entire time the message was playing. She glares down at the phone in disgust, thinking of all the time she’s wasted over the last few months.

No more distractions.

From anyone.

With a flick of her wrist, Grace tosses the phone into the center of the fire.

It disappears amidst the blazing inferno as the lawn ornaments slowly start to melt from the heat. Their plastic faces drooping. And peeling. And sagging. Molten plastic dripping to the grown in a twisted macabre vision of Hell.

The fire burns stronger than ever.


Hello, Grace.

Welcome home.

***********************

Two chances.

That’s what I’ve got kiddies.

I’ve got two chances to make a name for myself at Path of the Warrior. I mean an even bigger name for myself.

The Network Championship is there for the taking and a title shot at my discretion hangs in the balance if I win the Path of the Warrior Tournament.

Take a breath.

Soak that shit in.

That’s a pretty heavy task for anyone to take on, let alone a rookie like myself.

You kinda forget that, don’t you shit-bags?

I’m just getting started in this business that a lot of you have been working for years at. Kinda hurts to think I’m just naturally this good, huh?

Even if you don’t care about me or anything I’ve done so far, you have to at least give me props for coming so far, so fast.

Know how I got to this point? With two of the biggest prizes in the game waiting for me to snatch them in a few short days?

No, it’s not because I’ve cheated my way here.

It’s not because of Mr. Gates.

It’s certainly not because of my last name.

It’s because I don’t give a damn about what happens to anyone else on the roster other than myself.

You people are here so I can climb all over your corpses and bring this sport to another level. I’m not here to compete with you, you’re here to serve me.

Sound arrogant? Or cocky? Want to call me a bitch or a cunt?

Go ahead. You won’t hurt this chica’s feelings.

That’s the type of things that you people have to do to justify your existence. The fact that you all even still have careers in EWA just goes to show how nice of a bitch I really am. I’m...well...I’m a realist. I can’t run this entire promotion by myself. I can’t be the main event and announce the matches and conduct the interviews at the same time.

That shit would be EXHAUSTING.

That’s why you people exist.

To serve.

To fill out EWA and dance like little monkeys while I polish my championships in the ivory tower.

And oh man, you are all in such fucking trouble. Up until recently, I was a little bit too wrapped up in the money and fame that I had to really study up on fucking you all up.

Gone.

I’ve got all the time in the world now to figure out how best I want to humiliate all of you. So NOTHING? Robertson? Sinclair? Calder?

I’m bringing everything I’ve got, and what I’ve got you all can’t handle. I’ve got nothing left to say to you, it's time to nut up. Whether we are duking it out for the Network Championship or I’m bringing home that open contract, none of you cunts are ready for what I’ve got planned for EWA.

Big things.

Huge fucking things.

You’re all invited. I want you all to participate.

But know that the world will be turned upside down when I’m done with all of you at Path of the Warrior. You won’t recognize the place you all used to call EWA.

You all might describe it as a wasteland.

I call it beautiful.

Just try and survive the fallout, boys.

See you soon, my little lovelies.


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