Buddha is a Bitch
Life blows then you die. Or at least, that's what I believed up until the day I pissed Buddha off. Never did believe all that love and peace bullpucky. Turns out, Buddha is every bit as depraved as the rest of us... and god damn had I known, I would've gone out of my way a long time ago to infuriate the big guy...
...
"Are you a goth?"
My eyebrows stitched together as I peered over my laptop at the little asstard who'd spoken. Behind the counter stood a chubby nine or ten-year-old with a freaking bush of curly red hair, and a gap between his front teeth so wide he could probably shoot chocolate milk through them like a champ.
I rolled my eyes, it wasn't like he was the first person to ask that question, but it was still annoying as all hell. Favoring black scale fatigue cargos, and a black tank didn't automatically paint me as a goth, however, coupled with black heavy steel-toed boots, and of course, black hair, did.
I wasn't goth, goddammit. I just liked black. Seriously, why the hell did everything have to have a fucking label?
Ignoring the spawn of Carrot Top, I went back to fiddling with my story. To my annoyance though, the kid's intrusion killed the vibe I'd been working with, and I closed the document and opened the browser to FanFiction.
Surreptitiously, I eyed the red-head as he waddled away, then checked to make sure I was at an angle where no one could read the screen. It was just too weird. I loved me some fanfiction, but god-almighty, what I really loved was the ridiculous romance. And some of my favorites involved kickass human women and Predators. Yup, I was one of those fans. Like I said, weird, but I had to keep reading it. It was the best and the worst kind of addiction. The one that physically did no harm but you could never kick the dirty habit because it was that damn good. I'd even written a few of my own but was too chicken to post them. Not because I was embarrassed about the steamy contents or anything, it's not like anyone would really know who I was, but because I didn't want anyone to know what an illiterate idgit I was.
I sighed, and once again, put myself in place of the main character. Daydreaming that these adventures were mine and that I was the cool chic kicking ass along side a badass Yautja.
Yautja is the Predators species name. Yeah, I know, nerd right here, yo!
My mind was thoroughly engrossed in carnage and lust as the Yautja gave a primal roar and claimed his mate right on top of the twisted scientists' bodies when a tuft of orange appeared in my periphery like an annoying zit that just wouldn't go the fuck away.
I wonder if the roach spray under the counter would work... Oh, right, good idea there Riley, then watch your ass get tossed right back in jail.
Still, the image of me spraying this kid and watching him scramble around like a cockroach when the lights get flicked on surfaced in my head, and I found myself fighting a grin.
"Can I buy these?"
I glanced at the assortment of video games in his chubby hands, noticing leftovers of something that was cringe-worthy brown crammed under his nail bed and felt my brows climbing into my hairline at the titles. The Carrot Top spawn held a copy of The Suffering, Parasite Eve, Resident Evil, and Silent Hill.
Geez, kid, demented much?
I'll admit I enjoy a good horror game every now and again, but I was also twenty-five, an adult (on most days), and even though I understood what I was playing wasn't real, it still gave me nightmares. This kid's voice was my-balls-haven't-dropped-yet squeaky, and he expected me to sell him seventeen-plus age rated games? I had some pretty interesting tattoos on my body, but there was nothin' tattooed on my forehead that claimed me as an idiot.
In one smooth motion, I straightened and snatched the games from him, inwardly grossed out when my thumb touched something sticky. "No," I said and set the games aside. I'd taken them 'cause the last thing I wanted was this kid stealing them or throwing them in a tantrum. And the reddish hue of his cheeks warned me of said impending tantrum. "You're too young, kid. Go grab a Pokemon game or something."
The little orange troll stamped a foot, "I want those games! Give them to me, stupid!"
I scowled and looked around for anyone that might be this brats' mom. The GameOn shop wasn't very big, but I didn't spy anyone ducking my gaze or acting embarrassed because they sure as hell should be if this was their child. Fuck, maybe she ditched him. I would've.
"Stupid, freak," he kicked the service desk. His face flushed with way too much anger for a kid his age. "Give them back you, bitch!"
Wow, I suddenly had a new appreciation for birth control.
I felt a flush of my own creep up my neck, but before I could blow this kid's mind with a vocabulary capable of making a Marine blush, a stocky woman in way too much fucking purple spandex came out of the bathroom, took in the situation at a glance and stabbed me with an outraged glare. Needless to say, I was shocked when she sashayed over with a bitch-I-know-your-trashy-goth-ass-ain't-yelling-at-my-son expression.
"Percivale, what's going on?"
Percivale...? Okay, that explains a lot.
Percivale's beady eyes stared up at me and the brat gave me a secretive, way too smug shit-eating grin for my benefit which quickly turned into a look of pure child-like innocence as he looked forlornly at his mother. The switch had been so fast that I blinked and wondered if I'd imagined the whole smug grin thing until the kid opened his mouth.
"The mean lady took my games," he said, eyes shining and lip quivering. "She said a fat kid like me needs to be outside."
My mind reeled at his words.
Holy shit is this actually happening right now?!
Anyone and everyone who's ever worked in retail has dealt with shitty customers at one time or another. But this? This was the kind of shit I thought people made up so that their job sounded the crappiest.
Too stupid to realize she was being played by her little hell goblin, the woman straightened and sized me up. I scowled and crossed my arms over my chest. She could puff out her fake balloon tits all she wanted, I wasn't intimidated. The woman was heavier than me by a good fifty pounds, but at 5'11" I was a good head and a half taller. I was also strong. People often pull that bullshit line about being raised on the wrong side of the tracks, to which I always respond with a humorless bark of laughter. Those people are posers who just want others to think they're tough. The ones' who survive being raised on the wrong side of the tracks don't wear it as a statement, we'll just simply kick your ass.
The hell goblin's mom seemed to sense this and looked appropriately abashed when I browbeat her into submission.
"Ma'am, I did not say those things about your son." What I really wanted to say was that your piece of shit son needs therapy or a straight jacket, but I bit my tongue only because this was my store and people were beginning to gawk. I pushed the video games he'd selected in front of her. "These games are rated seventeen and up for a reason."
She looked at the titles then back to me, and I got the horrible sense that she didn't see the problem. The woman flipped her hair with a hand sounding mildly outraged and trying to save face as she spoke.
"They're just video games," she sneered.
Wooooow...
My voice echoed the incredulous tone of my thoughts, "Seriously?!"
She flushed crimson then, and I shit you not, she turned her beaky nose up with a hrmph, grabbed her hell goblin's hand, and stomped out of the store.
Mom of the fucking year award right there.
Now I was angry for a completely different reason. The reason that woman didn't see anything wrong with her son's behavior was that she was equally a bratty piece of shit.
Sighing, I closed my laptop with an annoyed snap and accidentally knocked over the little plastic Buddha sitting beside it. Growling and with way more force than necessary I picked up the big guy and straightened him with a slam. The Buddha smiled up at me, cool as a cucumber and I decided that if I was in a shit mood he should be too. With a ridiculous flourish, I scribbled a Frenchy curly mustache on his peaceful expression in Sharpie, the smile playing about my face somewhere between Jaws and Joker manic. I set the Buddha down feeling stupidly pleased with my own shit. But as I stared at the happy chubster, the childish moment passed, and I was still annoyed.
Tugging a hand through my long hair, I did the only thing that would elevate my mood and ordered some Chinese food. I needed succulent carbs to get me out of this miserable funk, and Mr. Hong had the most to die for pot stickers this side of Southern Louisiana.
...
The jingle of the keys and the click of the heavy deadbolts sliding into place as I locked up the store was orgasmic to my ears. With a satisfied sigh, I flipped the closed sign then walked over to the service desk, scooped up my laptop and the remnants of my dinner and headed to the back of the store and up the stairs to my tiny apartment above GameOn.
Once inside, I tossed the leftovers in the fridge, grabbed a beer, and collapsed on the bed with my laptop without even bothering to kick my boots off. I flipped open the computer and dove straight back into the protagonist's kickass life. Why were the heroine's in almost every romance story cute and petite, yet absurdly strong for their size? It didn't make much sense, but then again, maybe I was just a tad jealous because I was tall and a smidge too muscular to be considered sexy. Okay, more than a tad bit jealous. Especially when the heroine's hunky love interested could tower over her and make her feel like this precious thing, whereas I couldn't pull off precious or cute if my life depended on it. Hell, I rarely dated because most guys tended to hate looking up at their dates. And on the rare occasion, I did find someone taller than me, they always wanted the cute dainty girlfriend that I never could be.
Whatever.
I read on, completely engrossed as the heroine runs into a burning barn to rescue the Predator that had become trapped within. The saucy little scene after she helps kill a xeno queen was particularly enjoyable.
At least someone's getting some...
...
Somewhere between writing my own story and having a threeway with Ben and Jerry, I dozed off, only to snap upright when my spidey senses bitch slapped me awake. A second later, I heard the unmistakable sound of the downstairs window breaking.
Dammit, not again!
I rolled out of bed and went for the shotgun I kept tucked behind the door. I didn't have an alarm, which is pretty fucking boneheaded in this neighborhood, but I wasn't exactly known for being a pushover, and most people respected a woman who'd shot more than one idiot assailant in the past.
Crouching, I pressed my back against the wall beside the door. If someone were holding a gun on the other side, they wouldn't think to aim below chest level. With gritted teeth, I slowly turned the nob, willing it to be silent. The old hinges gave a defiant creak, and I silently vowed to chop the door into pieces if it didn't shut the fuck up. The sound cut off, and I couldn't help the arrogant smirk that twitched my lips.
No one was on the other side. Dammit, I'd been all sneaky and shit for nothing.
I peered down at the darkened stairwell and felt the first inkling of oh-shit. Adrenaline hammered through my veins, but I kept a tight lid on my nerves. It was probably just another punk kid looking to steal the cash from the register, but the weird thing was, the annoying bell that always dings when the drawer opens, hadn't rung yet. That register wasn't Fort Knox, it could be jimmied open with a butter knife. So either the intruder was extremely stupid or the cash wasn't what interested him or her.
Thinking light weight thoughts, I crept down the stairs wishing for the umpteenth time I could be some slim petite badass 'cause it sure as shit wasn't my boots making the old boards groan.
Finally, at the bottom, I pressed an ear to the door and listened. The game store beyond was quiet and I briefly wondered if the intruder had fled. And yet, I couldn't shake the wrongness I felt swirling in my gut. Or maybe that was the fried food and ice cream.
After waiting and listening for what had to be an eternity, I finally thought fuck it and quietly opened the door. Being courteous, I let the barrel of the shotgun lead the way because really, a lady should go first, and slowly I followed behind and held her butt. Yes, I make jokes when I'm scared. Get over it.
The lights I left on as my security had all been shut off and only the glow of the street lamps outside made it possible to move without being completely blind. Still crouched behind the stairwell door, I eyed the open door leading out of the office part of the store which I mostly used as storage to the main room. I couldn't see shit besides a straight line from here to the broken window overlooking the street. So I waited another beat then slowly edged my way forward keeping the nose of the shotgun slightly down to relieve some of the tension in my arms, but at the ready so all I had to do was twitch to bring it chest level.
I paused at the entrance separating the office from the actual store and listened. My fingers ached, contrary to what you see in movies, it is impossible to hold a gun for long periods at chest level. The weight of the gun and gravity will tire you out, and if you're not paying attention, you might make a mistake. I flexed my fingers around the barrel and exhaled a silent breath then held it as I stepped around the door.
No one jumped out at me. Nothing moved against the bony fingers of shadows created by the shelves. I eased my way over to the service desk and noted the register was still in one piece.
What the hell?
I relaxed the butt of the gun against my shoulder minutely as I lifted my head and glanced around. Glass glinted on the floor in the glow of the street lights, a car horn blared somewhere in the distant night, but here in the game store, I was alone. Or so I thought.
My head jerked to the man in the mask standing in the dark stricken corner behind the register. He stood so still, that for a moment I considered that the shadows were playing tricks on my eyes, but then he lifted his head... his head?
Stray bands of light played across the pink fleshy folds of the too-perfect pig man's face. The mask was eerily authentic looking with weird beads of something dark oozing down the front of his shirt.
Numb horror filled me.
That's blood- holy, fucking shit tits, that's blood!
The loud report of a gun suddenly rang in my ears and with it a white-hot pain I remembered all too well. The startling horror of being shot brought me out of my shocked stupor, and with a defiant snarl I raised the shotgun and pulled the trigger.
Pig man's head exploded from the double-aught buckshot, splattering the wall behind with a shower of gore. The headless body remained upright for a moment then crumpled to the ground.
The shotgun clattered heavily on the floor as I fell forward and onto the service counter.
"Fuck," I gasped. My hand going for my chest, instinctually trying to staunch the flow of blood quickly pooling on the cheap formica. "I fucking... hesitated..."
Trying to get a better grip, I slipped in the blood and fell to the floor bringing half the crap littering the counter with me.
Oh, god it hurt. The burning pain rent a strangled cry from my throat as I turned over onto my back. The thundering of my heart filled my ears, and I couldn't get enough air.
Cell phone, Riley! Stay calm and dial 91-
My pockets were empty.
Balls...
My cell phone was upstairs slumming it with a pint of spent Ben and Jerry's.
I stared up at the water stained tiles above my head and waded in the warm numbness my body drifted in.
Something plopped beside my face, and I was so far gone it took me several sluggish seconds to register the outside stimuli. With shallow breaths and the last vestiges of strength, I turned my head and found myself staring into the smiling Buddha's face. The cartoonish mustache looked ridiculous, and I choked on a laugh, the taste of copper on my tongue.
Fuck... life really is a bitch...
...
Fiery light from the gods burned my retinas, and I shut my eyes against their intensity. God damn, did heaven have to be so fuckin' bright?! Or was this hell?
I tried to pry open my eyes but the light was too intense and everything hurt... wait, why did everything hurt? I thought when you died the pain goes away? That's supposed to be the upside of death, dammit! And since when does heaven or hell smell like a funeral home?!
Now that I was aware of it, there were other nose irritating smells too, and... noise... people talking. The logical conclusion I came to was that I hadn't died and I was in a hospital. Except, I'd woken up in plenty of hospitals before, and they didn't smell quite like this or give off the air of wrongness this place did.
Ignoring the stinging pain of the light, I cracked open my eyes and tried to gauge my surroundings without alerting the people I was awake. White tiled floor- why the heck was I on the floor? A toilet in the corner. No monitors of any kind in sight. Two sets of vents on opposite sides of the ceiling and a metal circular hatch of some kind in the middle and glass walls- no wait, not glass, some kind of high polished crystal from the moons of Eyra. Wait... what? Moons of Eyra? How the heck would I know that?! And what the fuck is an Eyra?!
"The specimen is awake." An unknown masculine voice said.
Dammit, the jig is up- wah? Specimen? Are they talking about me?! What the hell is going on?!
Where ever I was, it wasn't a place I wanted to be...
A/N: 'Ello, my lovely chibis! I don't know where this story is going but it's a hoot writing it! And yes, I know, I went a little meta, lol! XD Anyone and everyone in the path of hurricane Irma, stay safe! Spotlight: Luna Silvereyes, girl your story A New Hunt is fucking amazing! Thanx for being so supportive of my work ;)