Missing Pieces

There’s no getting out. Fuck. These pictures are either getting out or I’m the page 6 news story of the floating corpse in found in Union Bay.

The flicker of flashlights appeared down the damp alleyway. Each misty breath gave away her hiding spot.

“That bitch has no where else to go, she’s got to be down here.”

“I can’t wait to fuck her shit up, she’ll get what’s comin”

There’s something about June in Seattle. As the marine layer began to dissipate, the morning sun shone bright through the window and new starts seemed possible.

A heap of bedsheets began to rise, as if a zombie were raising from the dead. A figured appeared from beneath. Her black hair, matted and disheveled, stuck up as if being pulled from the ceiling. Ass cheeks hanging out from the ragged t shirt, she stumbled over the clothes piled on the floor. Eyes closed, she turned on the bathroom light and in shock, back off it went.

Goosebumps peaked as she sat down on the frozen seat. Moments of silence passed. Psssssssss, her body shook from the release of a night of booze saturating the toilet. The scent of vodka oozed from her caramel skin as she reached for the toilet paper. “Of course, it’s a fucking empty roll”. Standing to a squat, she shook, put the lid down and flushed, then pulled off her shirt and started the shower.

The steam rose almost immediately, hitting the cold air as if in battle to claim it’s ground. As she stepped up over the tub, she winced. Immediately regretting the workout from the day prior, her calf constricted into a Charlie horse. Tumbling to the shower floor, she massaged the cramp until it eased up.

“Ok, I’m ready body, how about getting your shit together?” She stood as if in spite of herself.

The warm water flowed easily over her athletic frame and she washed in record time.

Stepping from the stall, she walked freely and confidently out and into the bedroom with nothing resembling appearance of shame or distaste for her figure.

As she stood, viewing her reflection in the full length mirror, she glanced at the faded framed picture of two women, perched nearby. She moved closer to the mirror and began pulling the skin on her forehead more taught, hopeful for the lines to fade. Releasing her hands, shoulders slumped, and mouth pursed she burst out as if someone were mocking her, “yeah, ok, maybe I should actually drink more water, and not have fucked him last night. Thanks, Sally”

BEEeeeP BEEeeeeP BeeeeEEP, the alarm clock rang.

“Aw shit, I’m late”, she shrieked.

The pile of clothes flew through the air as she smelled and tossed each piece. Finally, a navy dress appeared to pass the test. Throwing it over in a single motion and shimmying it down, her gazed turned to the mirror and a nod of half approval sent her out to the kitchen.

Grasping at keys and a surprisingly fresh clutch hanging from the coatrack, she fumbled to get her pumps on and ran out. The door crashed into the frame and without looking back, she ran down the cobbled walkway to a car waiting out front.

The comical appearance of the Mercedes and the crumbling house would confuse any passersby. As if by intent, she didn’t care.

“Morning, Shalene” her neighbor grumbled, obviously bothered that she didn’t noticed her for the umpteenth time. “Heard you come ‘round that corner bright an early this morning?”

“Oh, Hi Mrs. Lizinski. How’s that dirtbag of a husband treating you today?”

Barely audible, “That little cunt” as she waved her scraggly middle finger in Shalene’s direction.

Mockingly Shalene retorted, “Have a blessed day”. She sleeked into the car and tossed her belongings into the apssengers seat. From her bag, lipstick, a small billfold, and a crumpled golden paper scattered to the footing. “ughh, I’ll pick it up when I get there.”