The Captured Training Coach

A few mile hike from Miss Chop’s Barren Forest cabin hideout, a frozen crystal lake lured school children with a wintry wonderland picturesque postcard fantasy.

As the snow painted a tundra canvas, Miss Chop stared out the window, “It looks like death out there, Mr. Babbleloni.”

Making her way into the living room the former teen bathing beauty queen approached the houseguest, strapped to a chair bound and gagged.

“Are they doing everything right?” Miss Chop satirically requested, “that is what you wanted? Isn’t it? Perfection?”

Not able to answer, Scott Babbleloni observed the fire burn, sending a message, “I watched you pair them up, thinking you were a matchmaker calling it competition.” Miss Chop commentated.

Taking her seated couch position, “should I let you go? Now. Or should I ask you questions, why you say?”

“To promote the sponsored extravaganza when everyone lets their hair down,” Miss Chop showed how much she knew, “what do you think those kids were doing out there? Socializing while recreational skating? You want what? Gold, silver, bronze?

A tear skied down Scott’s mountainous hilly cheeks while Miss Chop felt no remorse, “baby its cold out there,” she started to sing picking up the trainer’s coach’s gliding shoes, “so maybe I should send you somewhere warm and toasty.”

Making sure the razor-sharp footwear with a murderous agenda was prepared, she silenced him with his own athletic weapon, “good bye Mr. Babbleloni enjoy your trip down south.”