The Return of Audrey- Little Shop of Audrey I

by boomerbabe14

This is the same person who formerly wrote for "BoomerBabe13" (see a few stories below). I, uh, forgot my contact information and had to make a new account *blushes*. I will be adding new installations to this story routinely, so keep reading! Thanks XOXO

2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Hi, so this is kind of awkward, but this account is an extension of "BoomerBabe13" (see The Return of Audrey- Little Shop of Audrey I). I completely forgot the password to that account (and the e-mail), so here I am. I will be continuing The Return of Audrey- Little Shop of Audrey I on this account.

There is very little Seymour told me before I died. I remember hanging limply in his arms, and wanting nothing more than to see another day. I remember his face, full of disbelief and shame, and I remember seeing Audrey II smirking, with its lips turned all the way up, out of the corner of my eye. I remember asking him if he had fed Mushnik and Orin to the plant, and I remember him replying yes, and anticipating the worst. I remember not wanting our last moments to be angry or confused, so I focused on the one thing in Skid Row I love: Seymour. I remember black. I remember death, or sleep. Whichever you prefer to call it.

From what I've gathered, I figure that Audrey II had intentions to eat the human race from the beginning, carrying out a plan of dividing and conquering. It tricked Seymour into feeding it blood (which, in retrospect, Seymour really should have been alarmed by), and making it grow, and now spreading its spores everywhere.

God, wouldn't I be a spore? I've always imagined myself in a nice house, in a nice suburb. Not as a house plant with dastardly intentions. Instead of wallowing in misery, I decide to do what my mother has always told me to do: stay strong, Audrey. Fight back, Audrey. If only she hadn't committed suicide when daddy let early. If she hadn't, I would have stood up to Orin a long time ago, and I wouldn't even be in this mess.

Screeech! I am in the dirty trunk of Greasy's van, and it seems he has just taken a swift turn. These Skid Row streets have not been re- paved since I was a little girl. I remember always riding my pathetic little scooter past the windows of Mushnik's Skid Row Florists to admire the beautiful flowers. I have always loved flowers. I guess that's why I quit my job at the Gutter to work here after mama died. Although it is quite ironic that I was the one arranging her funeral bouquet.

My pot almost tilts sideways, and I don't even want to think of what would happen if I fell out of it. Greasy makes a grunting noise and reaches to turn on the car radio.

"I will survive! I will survive!" blasts the radio, and I want to laugh and cry at the same time. Sadly, I don't think a plant can do either.