That's all I see, all I feel... All I touch. Everywhere is light.
I sit up and shield my eyes with my arm to try and block some of the omnipresent light, but my arm doesn't quite do the trick. I hear voices, but I think I'm just imagining them. With all this light, I can't tell if I died or if I'm just hallucinating.
The light suddenly turns off with a simple click, and now I realize I'm not dead. My eyes quickly adjust to the dark room, so I see a radio, a couch, a mirror laying on the floor, and a table set that has nothing that matches. There is old food sitting on the table, which is very enticing to my growling stomach, and clothes strewn over the couch. I touch my face, just to make sure I still wasn't hallucinating, and slowly crawl over to the mirror. Even in the dim light coming from a source of light I haven't found, I could see my face looking scared right back at me. Nothing was different though, other than my expression. My eyes were green, my hair purple, and my favorite pink and blue scarf around my neck, hanging down and brushing the mirror with its slightly fringed edges.
I hear the voices again, but this time I strain to hear. "... new girl looks tough..." says a low gruff voice I hear through the source of I light I discovered at a crack below a door. I slowly stand and tip toe to lay by the door. I've always been taught in situations like this, follow your instincts, and right now my instincts were urging me to listen closer.
"I think she'll survive, too," a kind, slightly muffled voice agrees. At least it's good to know I have two strangers on my back.
"But look at her, she doesn't have a gun or any other weapons, and the only other things she had in her pockets was a pencil and a mini sketchpad with nonsense drawings," a pinched voice that seems closer to the door, as if the person speaking was of midget proportions, rebuttals, like the man had his nose wrinkled in disgust. "What do you think, Poison? Is she worth to let her tag along?" the kind, muffled voice says to another person apparently on the other side of the door.
By this time, my instincts and my stomach are both telling me to get off the hard ground I was laying on and open the door, and my curiosity of a cat wasn’t helping. After wishing up enough willpower to open the door, I lightly jump up on my toes in a crouching position, looked around the room for a weapon, grabbed the lightest looking chair, walked slowly to the door, put my hand upon the knob, jerked it open, and flung the door open outward, which apparently it wasn’t supposed to go, as I broke its hinges as the door fell to the floor. I tried to suppress a laugh, and put my best poker face on.
“********!” said a fourth voice, which sounded like the leader, and my eyes shifted to the apparently five men standing in the room.
“Girlie, you better put the chair down,” said the shortest one, the one I judged to be the earlier remarker on my pencil and sketchpad. “You don’t know what’s going on.”
“Oh yeah?” I snarled. I stared down at the midget, literally, and took in what he looked like. He had black hair, green eyes that I judged to look warm and inviting in other situations, bright clothing which consisted of a yellow long sleeved shirt, an army green vest, black jeans, a Frankenstein mask, and so many tattoos that it made me think, Would you like some skin with those tattoos? I couldn’t let his appearance get to me though. “Whatcha gonna do ‘bout this?” I swung the chair in his direction and let go. The chair sails through the air and connects with the wall behind the midget, who's ducking
“********’ s**t, that coulda killed me!” The midget said, but made no more moves besides standing back up and rubbing his head. I looked at the others in the room, and noticed I had four toy guns pointed at me.
“Oh joy, I have a bunch of losers aiming their little toy guns at my head,” I sassed. The leader-looking one moved his green gun slightly away from my head and pulled the trigger. It shot a blue light and hit the wall beside me, leaving a black mark where it had hit. [********, not good, I quickly thought. I am now in a life or death situation.
“Put the chair down,” said the leader voice, which was connected to a man with fire engine red hair, a pair of spaceman goggles over his eyes, a smiling bandana over his mouth, grey jeans, a mechanic-esque jacket, and nondescript dirty shoes. You could tell this guys meant business though, and I reluctantly set the chair down to my right. “Now sit down.” I did as I was told, still shooting invisible hate daggers towards the fire crotch's face.
The four guns were lowered, but the guys still looked weary, as if expecting something else. I looked at the other three guys. One was of medium build, with blond hair peeking out of his red and navy hat that went over his ears like a winter hat, crystal blue eyes, a green leather jacket, black jeans, and a grey bandana over his mouth. Another guy I nicknamed Gigantor, as this guy was tall but thin. He had a huge black afro that I swear was going to eat me, a red bandana, a black leather jacket, dark jeans, fingerless biker gloves, a blue gun, and a space helmet. The last guy looked really more like a tall and skinny boy, with a red jacket, tiger shirt, black jeans, and a yellow biker helmet painted queerly. Man, there guys are weird, I thought, and looked around again, still angry on my face as a facade, but not so angry on the inside.
We stood and sat there for what seemed like forever as I sized these queers up and they sized me up. After awhile I was bored out of my mind and said, “At least tell me why I was put in a lit room and then have five cunts checking me out.”
Blondie sighed and walked over to Fire-Crotch and whispered to him, asking him something with his back turned to me. The other three were still staring me down though, Midget not too nicely though. Must be mad for the chair thing. Blondie turned around and finally spoke, shocking me that the low, gruff voice had belonged to him. This dude looked like a ******** pansy and he has a voice of a black man. Damn. “Violet Rage?” I spat on the ground to show I was listening. Good thing he took that as a sign to keep talkin’ or I would have smashed that pansy face of his in. “You’re in a diner." I looked around while keeping my face straight and saw he was correct. "I’m Mr. Moonstruck, that’s Party Poison,” motioning to Fire Crotch, “that’s Fun Ghoul,” poking Midget, ”that’s Kobra Kid” pointing to Boy Wonder,” and over there is Jet Star,” nodding towards Gigantor. “We’re—“
“********. You.” I stopped him in mid sentence. Ain’t no way Imma be stuck here with these idiots. “You mother ******** stuck me in a… a ********’ DINER and now just sit here expecting me to answer? ******** YOU.” I stood up, but Fire Crotch and Boy Wonder moved to grab me. I shrugged past them and walked outside. Damn, the sun was bright. Why was it so ******** bright? I stuck my hands on my head, expecting to find my Ray Bans there, but apparently not. Musta left them at home, or else they fell off when I flung that chair. I glanced down at my bright orange criminal pants I had stolen from the Black, my grey tank top, my scarf, and my combat boots. [******** it, I’ll just go on without my ******** glasses. I didn’t have my keys with me, No, I never have my ******** keys when I need them, I think, grumbling. I didn’t even have a clue which direction I was headed in, but whatever direction it was, I walked. I missed my army truck, and literally punched myself in the face for not carrying my ******** keys. It was an hour before midday, and the sun was nearly full fletched. Damn sun, damn life. Why was I always the one to be picked up by strange guys whenever I was taking one of my beloved naps by a tree. I was getting really tired and thirsty when I turned around to hear the roar of an engine.
Once again, with the ******** hallucinations. I seriously need to invest in some Valium at the Black, I thought, turning back around, away from the car and away from the sun. Goddamnit, why was the sun so ******** hot? I heard the engine get closer, so I turned back around. What I saw turned into the love of my life. Let me describe this for you. Imagine a 1979 Pontiac Trans Am with the T-top open. On the side I could see, there was the door painted black, with NAYA in chicken scratch written on the door. The back bumper appeared to be the original primer of the factory, and there was what resembled a giant crack (aka grack) painted brown behind the right back tire. Another blue grack was right above the back tire, and red stripes were above the front tire. On the hood of the car, a giant spider was wickedly painted with a lightning bolt on its abdomen. The right side of the front bumper had caution tape while the left was plain. As the car rolled up to me, I noticed the love of my life had a green right window, and that the car was literally screaming "******** WASH ME!" I couldn’t help but gawk at the car until it stopped and I saw who climbed out. [******** I wish they would leave me the ******** alone.
Gigantor had noticed my face from leaning out of the window of the car as I stared at my love, saucer-eyed, and smirked. “Looks like Violet fell in looouuuurve,” he cooed, sarcasm physically dripping from his words. I flinched but restrained myself from going over there and personally kicking his a** and throwing it at a cactus. I turned back around and walked again. Footsteps, and a hand caught my shoulder. I stopped. Nobody ever dares touch my shoulder, let alone have the nerve to stop me from walking. I slowly turned around, and the expression “If looks could kill” came to my mind. If I had that mirror back from the queers' place I would probably be scared of my own face, as I could feel the anger coming off of me and my face, facing my fresh meat. It was Fire Crotch, looking unfazed at my expression. He looked calm, in fact. That just made me want to punch this guy in the face even more. “You can’t run away, you know,” he said quietly. I calmed just a smidge, but still felt angry. I had to say something.
“I’m not ******** running away. I’m going home. I don’t wanna be a part of the travelling circus you have going.” I gestured to all the guys in my love. “Whatever you want me to ******** do, and how ever the ******** you learned my name, DROP IT.” I pivoted and stalked off again. Fire Crotch caught my arm and spun my around. Damn, this guy got nerve.
“Violet Rage, you have to be a part of … Err… That.” He motioned to the car. “You’re one of the most wanted Killjoys, and I need somebody like you to be the flame head of the crew.”
“You want to see flame head?! I’ll show you flame head!” I grabbed at his gun, caught it, and aimed at his tire. I had to hurt my love because of these ******** idiots. “I’m sorry babe,” I whispered, barely audible, but Fire Crotch seemed to have super ******** human hearing cause he heard me.
“You like the car?” I couldn’t tell if this was a trick question, so I just raised his gun at his head. Thank god the tire is safe. They’re probably original, cause the car is just on a bunch of sand. “Okay, okay, I give. Just give me my gun.”
I cocked my head. “Oh, this thing? I don’t think you’ll be getting this very soon.” And I broke off in a run, into the desert at high noon.
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