This story was the result. I didn't hashtag it #QueerBlogWed because this story isn't really a queer blog. It's the tale which came to me, due to some visceral, frightening images which came to me at the word 'wrench' of a woman threatening another woman with the object in question, refusing to give her something back which was hers...
A thin woman wearing a silky blouse and a tight gray skirt nearly stumbled over her own heels walking over to the roadside stand.
Three of her would have fit into the proprietor with her grimy hands, fly away hair, and the perpetual sneer with played across her lips. She balled those hands into powerful fists and looked the She-Suit up and down.
For all her expensive clothes, the visitor kept her shoulders hunched forward. Her darting eyes moved from the proprietor to the ground with the expression of a kicked dog.
“Excuse me.” She-Suit spoke in a soft voice. “I brought back a package earlier. A white box taped up?”
The owner of the stand didn’t answer. She continued to stare down the visitor, only she pulled a wrench out of a deep pocket. She slapped it against the palm of her callused hand in a threatening fashion.
“I was wondering.” She-Suit shivered, gulped, and seemed to gathered enough courage to speak. Enormous dark eyes fixed themselves from her half-starved face upon the proprietor. “I think I may have left it here-“
“That’s right. You left it.” The proprietor brandished the wrench at She-Suit as if it were a knife. “That makes it mine.”
“Huh?” She-Suit gazed at her with puppy eyes, blinking at her face in bewilderment.
Yeah, the proprietor knew what she saw. An angry swollen face, a woman who wore her unhappiness on her face, cheeks sunburned from sitting out in the stand all day, while people like She-Suit road around in their fancy cars and their fancy clothes, enjoying their air conditioners. Time to share some of the misery.
“But that package is mine-“ She-Suit made a pathetic attempt to stand up for herself, which the owner of the stand squashed in mid-sentence.
“You can’t prove that package was yours.” The proprietor waved her wrench under She-Suit’s nose, forcing the other woman to duck rather than get hit. “Think you’re entitled, do you? Because you left that box here, you have the right to take it back? That I’m going to be nice to you because you’re a potential customer?” She swung at She-Suit again. “Hah!”
She-Suit stumbled backwards. She did her best to run away in her awkward heels, getting as far as she could from the madwoman with the wrench.
“Guess you didn’t want the package that badly.” The proprietor grinned in the direction of her retreating back. “A pleasure doing business with you.”
She turned to look at the parcel which was sitting behind a box of raw peaches. Why anyone would leave such a thing at a roadside stand was beyond dumb. Not to mention coming back to reclaim it? This was the middle of nowhere. She-Suit couldn’t expect the police or any of the fancy services she hid behind to help her in a place like this.
She pulled the white box covered with tape out, ready to see what she claimed. Not bothering with a knife, she ripped at the tape holding the box closed, and took a look inside.
Hundreds of slitted yellow eyes gazed back at her from a darkness beyond what should be inside a cardboard box. She only had time to drop the wrench and scream.
The one her victim called She-Suit heard the screams, felt her fear wafting on the wind, and breathed in. She savored each bite of the proprietor’s flesh which her pets took.
It wouldn’t be an easy death. It would be slow. She had, however, given her prey every chance to escape. To do the honest thing and return the box which she’d left there. No one could fault her for not following the rules.
“Why anyone wouldn’t be suspicious of someone leaving an unattended parcel in the middle of nowhere is beyond dumb.” She smiled a bit to herself. “Thanks to stupidity, I never go hungry.”
She straighted her back and walked back to her car, whistling. Her pets would rematerialize, along with the box inside her vehicle, once they were finished.
They’d drive for a while and they’d find another roadstand. Of course there was always a risk they’d target an honest person, who’d give the box back.
Hunting had its risks. Fortunately there were enough bullies in the world to guarantee she and her pets always had full stomachs.
She opened the car door, glanced at the back seat. Two more sealed boxes sat there. She didn’t just visit roadside stands. She tried to vary her hunting grounds, to ensure she had a better chance of catching prey.
Variety was, after all, the spice of life.
She slid into her seat and drummed her fingers upon the wheel, tasting blood and flesh in her mouth, along with dishonesty, petty hatred, and a lust for inflicting misery on others.
Some might say these were the qualities of a mean person. She’d say they tasted just like chicken.
Heh.
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