• Pixie sat in the Holbrook Police Department, an ice pack on her eye. With the uncovered eye, she glanced around at the small building, reminding her of a typical redneck town police station. Everybody knew everyone, and she knew her name would be on the lips of every old bitty in the beauty shop come tomorrow afternoon.

    With a deep sigh, she took the ice pack off her eye and looked at the Deputy Sheriff seated across the desk from her. He looked at her sympathetically, and rubbed her hand in a friendly manner. "Bruce, don't.", she whispered. "Don't what, Pixie?" he asked, the pity in his voice clear. "I don't need a pity party, he hit me, I can deal with this, don't start feeling bad for me." "Pixie, I've known you since we were 5, and I moved to town. For shits sake, we used to take a bath together when we were kids. I can't stand to see you like this." The pity and sympathy was still very resonant in his voice, and a look of empathy was stern on his face. "Bruce, please, don't make this personal. The more you do, the worse it will be." Bruce sighed and let go of Pixie's hand as she put the ice pack back on her eye.

    Mike had slapped her around a few times before, but this was by far the worst yet. Her lip was busted open, her nose slightly crooked and probably broken, a deeply bruised eye, and more cuts and contusions all over her body. The more she sat there, the angrier she got.

    The fight had started over something so stupid, like most fights do. Mike, her boyfriend of 3 years, and his friends came to the house, after going mud bogging. As Mike walked in the door, he tossed the keys to his truck to Pixie, telling her to get her a** in gear and spray his truck down, getting the mud off. "Mike, I just worked a 10 hour shift at the diner, can't you and your friends do it?" she had asked, simply and plainly. Immediately, he sent his friends off to the bar, and told them he'd be down shortly. Knowing Mike and his temper, his friends complied. They knew what he'd do, and the less they saw, the better, in their opinions.

    "Stupid rednecks" Pixie muttered to herself as she picked at a bandage on her arm. "Hmm?" Bruce mumbled, looking up. "Nothin'" Pixie replied. Bruce nodded and stood to his feet. "I'm gonna give you a ride home, we'll keep him here as long as we can, but we can't stop him from making bail.... judges orders." Pixie nodded and stood as well. "I'd rather walk Bruce, I need the fresh air." "Are you sure?" "Yeah, I'll just walk down County Road 233, it'll bypass parading through town." Bruce nodded, knowing better than to argue with Pixie. "Call me as soon as you get in the door." Pixie nodded again and headed for the swinging saloon doors, which made up the exit of the small building.

    "Pixie?" Bruce called out. "Yeah?" "What are you gonna do now?" "You don't want to know, Bruce." "Well, if I didn't before, I do now." Pixie stopped at the swinging doors and turned to Bruce. "He wants a fight? Well now he's got one, and he ain't seen me crazy yet. He slapped me, Bruce. Tossed me around like a damn rag doll. That sound like a REAL man to you?" At this point, Pixie let out a small sigh of a chuckle. "If I play my cards right, I've got 2 miles of road until he makes bail. And if you ask me, we're both going straight to hell after tonight." With that, Pixie walked out the door.

    Walking down the road, Pixie ditched the ice pack and held her head up with confidence. This was her breaking point, she was done being Mike's little toss-around toy. As she took step after step on the hot, nearly white asphalt, she let the breeze blow through her long hair. She closed her eyes and took one deep breath after another. When she rounded the corner and walked up her driveway, she guessed that he was probably on his way home right now, and she'd be waiting for him.

    Pixie wasted no time once she got into the house. She went straight to the closet and pulled out her 12-gauge shot gun that her Daddy had bought her for her 16th birthday. She brought it into the kitchen and moved one of the chairs so it was placed about 8 feet away from the back door. Pixie grabbed a 6 pack of beer from the fridge, and headed back to the chair. As she sat down, she loaded the shot gun carefully, then lit herself a cigarette. She narrowed her eyes and stared at the door, waiting.

    At about half past 10, and two 6 packs down, Pixie ears perked up as she heard the familiar sound of Mike's truck on the gravel driveway. She knew he had no clue what was waiting for him. Quietly, she cocked her gun, and leaned back in her chair, a cocky yet angry look on her face. She nearly grinned when Mike swung the screen door open.

    As he stepped in the door, Pixie aimed her gun. Mike froze and narrowed his eyes at her. "An' jus' what the hell you think you doin', woman?" he asked, his southern drawl prominent. Pixie slowly stood to her feet. "Your fist is big, but my guns bigger. I'm showing you just what little girls are made of, Mike." It wasn't until now that Pixie began to shake. She wasn't sure if she was nervous, or angry, or both. She would have put all her money on both. "An' jus' whut are lil girls made of, huh?"

    Aiming the gun right between Mikes eyes, she said the last words she'd ever speak to him. "Gunpowder and lead."