short story: JOY RIDE

 As if two jobs and as much photography as I can possibly squeeze in wasn't enough, I thoroughly enjoy writing short stories. Creative writing. Though my style may not be to the liking of some people, as it's blunt and often from the dark side of humanity. But I don't write for other people. I write for my own pleasure and to maintain good mental health. Here is a sample for you. But first:

Hey, kids, do not try this one at home, ok. 

The story is meant solely for entertainment purposes - not inspiration.

The only thing on her mind: Revenge!

She'd been fired the previous Friday morning and she was...well, royally pissed off now. Still! Fired just because she was banging the boss at work. But it didn't last long before that step on the career ladder had broken and she'd fallen down and landed right on top of her pink slip. The boss's wife had shown up Thursday afternoon and when her husband had been called into the board room, she, the wife, had entertained herself by watching the files on the CCTV, and what entertainment it was; the new employee and her husband, the boss, in a predicament that was very hard - to say the least - to come up with a rational explanation for.

And it's not like she'd just pulled a "Monica" (Lewinsky) on the boss. It was more like...a Janis Joplin and the Full Tilt Boogie Band. A different kind of boogie, but full tilt it was. In fact, it was so tilted, all the way down onto the office desk, that the wife had given the boss an ultimatum, a "choice" as she'd put it: "Me or the girl. And if it's the girl, I'll sue your sorry ass off, for every penny you are worth and half of what's in the company. Add on top of that, the house - which was more like a mansion - on the beach, half of our assets Costa Rica and Belize, full custody over the kids with no paternal visits...and a very large amount in custody support". There wasn't really a lot of "choice" in that, as he saw it, so Friday morning the new employee was sacrificed on the altar of a relatively stabel standard of living, some would call it luxurious, and it's not like there was bonus coming her way, for "service and maintenance" of the boss's "engine". She was out, cold, and now she was pissed and on the hunt for revenge.

The advantage to being out that fast, is that they hadn't yet changed the passcode on the front door or cancelled her access card, so that Sunday night, when nobody was there, when the city was at home, dreading the new work week about to start, she was back in, with only one thing on her mind and a plan for how to make it happen.

Way too easy to get in, and once in, she went straight for the gonads. No need to waste time on foreplay. A girl on a mission. And not just any mission. In her own head, she was on a mission from God and she was just about to reach the pearly gates, invitation in hand.

She headed straight for the washroom, left a turd on the floor and a message on the bathroom mirror, written in bright red lipstick: " Kilroy was here". Everybody knew Kilroy, she figured, and then it was straight to the warehouse. She unplugged the large forklift. Not the little one. The large one; she had a job to do. "Fully charged. Thanks guys. How kind of you". She opened the gate on the loading dock and rolled the beast down the ramp, then rolled the gate down again and got to work.

When the first employees started arriving at work, she gave them a chance to get inside and get started, and then it was straight over to the first container, which was still wonderfully loaded with with concrete boulders and scrap metal, mostly but not solely rods within the broken concrete slabs; forks underneath it and hoist it it up to about 4 metres above her head. Then over to the first vehicle. She always hated that fat son-of-a-bitch. Lazy dog fucking prick and a retarded asshole with a rotten attitude and a face like an old English bulldog.

Placed right behind the car with the bin above the trunk, she tilted the forks and gave them a few good shakes. What a heavenly, beautiful sound, like a sweet angel choir, when the intire bin came crashing down on the top of his roof and almost flattened it, then tilted over and sent the entire content of concrete and metal down over the winshield and out over the hood. What didn't land inside the car, landed on the ground and made it hard for him to get out...just in case he had any such intentions as to clean out his car for concrete and metal and then driving a near-flattened car...anywhere.

After that, straight over behind the neighbouring building where she had the perfect, unobscured, undetectable view of who'd show up next. And who showed up next, was the boss himself. The prick who's bodily services she'd enlisted on her first step of the career ladder. Almost too good to be true. He'd obviously been called in. Otherwise he'd never have show up this time of night.

After taking a good look at the remains of a car parked under a pile of rubble, he disappeared into the building and this was her chance. It was now or never.

Once she got over to his car, she was faced with a minor issue. Not a problem, as far as she was concerned. Just a minor issue: The wife who'd demanded her fired, was in the passenger seat, but seemed to be asleep. "I guess the bitch does'nt trust him any longer. Oh, blessed opportunity". She could hit them both at the same time.

Forks under the the car, from the passenger side, blocking the wife from getting out. Up you go, getting out of the lot in a hurry, 100 metres down River Road to the concrete dock, same routine; high up, give the forks a good tilt and few shakes and..splash! The German (Mercedes) went swimming, wife and all.

Probably not cool to go back to her previous "place of employment", now, so she figured she'd for a coffee at Time Hortons in Richmond Centre. That one was open 24/7 she'd heard. Once she got there, she found it closed; police cruiser parked outside and two guys looking like licorice sticks roaming around inside, notebook and camera in hand. A slow, wry smile came over her lips.

Carrying this away was getting boring, so this time, approaching remarkably undetected from behind the cruiser, she "forked" just the trunk of the car, right underneath it, and lifted it up...way up...until the cruiser was literally standing upright on it's nose, and then...all she needed was a tiny little push and the doughnut box landed on it's roof with a sound that the licorice boys couldn't help but notice, drawing their attention. She rolled up a metre or two, just to catch their attention as well, waved at them a few time and then took of...in a hurry.

She made it all the way down to Steveston Hwy, before she started seeing flashing lights, both behind her and in front of her. Not the upside-down ones, but the ones on wheels. The licorice army was persuing her.

"Let's go out with a blast", she thought to herself, as she lowered the forks to middle of windshield hight and pulled left, over to the oncoming-traffic lane. "Anyone taking the bait, now, will surely be decapited". After a few moments of pedal-to-the-metal forklift speed in the suicidal lane, she figured she needed some music to create the proper atmosphere: "Let's make it poetic", she told herself. 

But as we all know, "all good things must come to an end", and this slow-chase was no different. When the cruisers behind her were about to catch up with her, the tried to keep them there, behind her, by zig-zagging all over the road. She turned her upper body around and gave the licorice boys the finger, making absolutely sure they noticed, while still zig-zagging in front of them. The youngest of the licorice boys, the "pony", aparently took offense to this gesture, for some weird reason. He leaned out the window, took aim at her tires and emptied the entire chamber of live ammo in an attempt to stop her.

Now, if pony boy had a brain, he would know that forklifts don't have inflated tired. Their tires are made of compressed hard rubber, so a fraction of a second after he fired his gun, the windshield shattered in a million pieces, from the rebounding bullet and the cruiser jack-knifed a tree with both guys in the car. That's aparently how you make Aussie licorice, and she was thrilled to delirium to see what had happend. She was nearly hyper ventillating with excitement, but with it enough that she realized she wasn't gonna outrun them, neither the ones coming up from the rear or the ones quickly coming at her from in front of her. That's when she saw the Richmond bus yard coming up in front of her and she figured she might be able to find some wheels there that spun a little faster than the forklift ones. If nothing else, she envisioned herself in the role of Dirty Harry in "The Gauntlet".

So she dumped the fork on the kitty-cat corner, at the science and spirituality centre. The fork was still rolling when she jumped off and headed for her imaginary welcome committee across the street. The only problem was, that there was nobody to let her in at this time of day and her pass-code was likely to work on the gates, here, so...up the fence she went, trying to scale it before the cruisers with the licorice boys could get to her.

It was the first time in her life she'd had a small army of guys on hormonal overdrive, tearing at her, all wanting a piece of her. A piece of her ass, the inside of her thighs. Anywhere would do, in fact. They all just wanted a piece of her, all jumping on top of her. It was almost arousing to her. It was also, quite likely, the last time.

But for a few short seconds, one of those instances that seemed to play out in slow-motion, she was being ravaged by five naked guys who all wanted her for their own sexual needs. Like a pack of wolves tearing at, and ripping into, the deer they just caught. But that fantasy came to an abrupt end when the handcuffs clicked and shut tight around her wrists behind her back. 

Less than 24 hours later she appeared in provincial court and is currently being held, awaiting trial, on a $ 20.000 bail than nobody want to is willing to come up with.