Daisy Girl

So I just got my first pick up from the Kindle Unlimited program. I wasn't going to post anymore today but seems like something to celebrate. Here is another one that is chock full of social commentary and really, really dark. I know I disturbed a few people with this one and hope you enjoy. Oh and as part of the process, I was listening to Eve of Destruction a lot and thinking of the Daisy Girl presidential commercial when I wrote this one. I think it shows.

Twelve noon, twelfth floor, going down. Who hit the button for four?

Eleven passengers; soccer mom and infant child, Russian immigrants – grandma – mom - teenage boy, NYC cop from another era who serves and pacifies, two construction workers, gentleman from the east maybe a terrorist, woman that works in perfume wearing a short skirt with promotion heels, homeless Vietnam vet who panhandles covering Country Joe. The last is me.

“My budet perym oni vkyuchayut.” – Grandma Russia.

“Tikho, oni ne budut!” – Teen Russia.

Ten minutes after the car stops. An announcement: The roof hatch is locked. Early detection of possible missiles, everything is shut down. Stay put, stay calm.

“Keep that kid quiet.” – The angry cop.

Nine infractions of the child crying in an hour. The first casualty of claustrophobia it hits the wall, silence. None protest, he has a gun and anger. We have only fear.

“My po-prezhnemu ryadom.” – Mother Russia.

Eight seconds of deafness. The argument began. We are all going to die in here. We all agree. The blue collar boys blame the Russian immigrants. The immigrants argue in broken English, seeming unsurprised. The boys beat the Russians to death. Only the terrorist tries to protect them. Deafening roar of the cop’s gun barking once to keep the peace. It stinks in here now; death excrement cologne. Mother keens in one corner, Barbie perfume another. I can hear again. Why am I too weak to stand up to the executioners? I fill with shame.

Seven hours stuck here, no way there are missiles coming but we still believe. Heartbroken mom finally rushes the cop. Her revenge cut short by a bullet in the heart.

“You killed him!” She wails then deafness again. No wasted bullets. If he has less ammunition than people he knows we will end his terror.

Five hours until we’ve been in here a day. We have tried talking but no one wants to. We argue when we speak and the cop looks for the next target. More dead than living. Quiet is easier.

Four, it was the construction workers that pushed four, now we remember. Accusations: If not for them we would have been out before the stall. The cop starts it, beating them with their own hammers to conserve ammo. The lady joins in and, God help me, so do I.

Three meals from anarchy, sometimes less. Three left alive.

Two bullets fired. The strumpet starts seducing the cop. She gains his gun and fires one against the artery in his thigh, one into his groin. Now we are safe but she has the gun.

One violent tryst, I am afraid but alive. She has the gun. I do as she says. Fluids are exchanged but numbers are not. One day since the stall the elevator moves again.

Launch. Parking. She slides out and clicks away on her heels. She blows me a kiss. Surprised I am alive I do not follow. Instead I punch five, menswear. I need to buy a tie.

#shortstory #socialcommentary #politicalcommentary #dark #celebration