A fate worse than a fate worse than death. This is my attempt for VIPs 'Kill Elena' challenge. Thanks to Smile Rose for her sick choices of TV shows, and to Wattle for allowing me to use the name of one of her characters.
Sawyer is out with the Boss and Ana. They have taken an idea to do a parachute jump and the weather is perfect for it today. I'm envious as fuck, but I got the short dull straw today. It wasn't fair to pull rank on Sawyer. I think he was nearly as excited as them after twenty four hours in this room. I idly watch the video screen. If I were given my choice I'd have had her meet with any number of gruesome accidents, but the boss is against the death penalty. I suppose pre-meditated murder might end with me on death row as well, so I'll accept the boss' judgement on this one.
Of course the boss had insisted on HD, but looking at her wrinkly mottled face without her normal thick layer of war paint is going to put me off my dinner. The brown velvet leisure suit has given her skin an exceptionally dull tone. She takes off her ugg boots and throws them at the window, but it's plexiglass and they bounce feebly off, landing on the floor with a soft thud.
The view from the window isn't too bad to be honest. Sheep in a green pasture. Cows in the field next door. Who would have thought the boss' plans for fair-priced organic food could be used for such alternative wholesome means? I switch to camera two and pan around the room. It's a fucking nightmare, and I know fuck all about decorating. Beige, cream, ecru and some colour that Gail has advised me is called 'Taupe'. Bland, nondescript, mass produced- images hang on the wall.
It was actually funny seeing the boss walk around one of those out-of-town warehouse stores looking for the most hideous second rate furniture he could find. Every time he winced, I knew he'd seen something else that would fit in this monochrome hell.
Continuing my scan of the room I actually wonder if the colours have failed in the monitor. No. Just the visual pabulum of her prison. There's nothing wrong with her voice and I give a hollow chuckle when I hear her lament of displeasure. She has just turned on Netflix and seen her viewing choices: The Waltons, Seventh Heaven, Dr Quinn Medicine Woman. The family friendly list is endless. Oh, and Little House on the Prairie. I think that one was Ana's choice. I'm sure she will scream even louder when she turns on the stereo. She won't find any Rachmananov or Chopin there. Let's just say that her Heart Will Go On whilst she thinks about her Puppy Love.
The music of boy bands as interpreted on the pan pipes makes my own ears want to explode. She deserves this. Taking the childhood from young boys such as Christian and Macy should not go unpunished. The law will take care of her in their way, and in the meantime we can take care of her in ours.
Gail comes in with a bowl of super spicy chilli with a spiral of soured cream bleeding into the warm red aromatic sauce. I swirl my vibrant yellow corn bread around and after taking a bite my eyes water and I groan. It's half agony, half ecstasy. I go for another bite and have the same response. Hmmm, maybe there is something about pain being addictive.
"What did you make for Elena, darling?" I take a long drink of full-fat milk, its cool creaminess coating my mouth, before another bite of scotch bonnet laced chilli cuts through. I can't get enough of Gail. This flaming hot chilli will certainly add some fire tonight!
Gail smirks. "Unbuttered mashed potato, boiled chicken breast and steamed cauliflower." I didn't know that my wife had such skills in Irish cooking. I hardly need to ask her what's for dessert but I raise my eyebrow anyway. "What's for the second course?" "What else? Vanilla ice cream."