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Description
Part I-Filth

The alarm went off. A mix of static and country twang jarred her from the best dream she'd had since her sister left her alone to move in with her would be husband. Shirley hadn't taken off her white dress yet and her hair was tangled with a thick mixture of oil and tobacco smoke. Her face was covered in painful acne and a thin coat of dirt from the sweat soaked pillows she buried her face in the night before. Pushing herself up with all the effort weak track marked arms could muster she leaned against the headboard and propped the neighbor's shot gun under her chin. She reached over and hit the snooze button on the alarm clock before cocking the gun. 9 minutes passed and a gunshot covered up the first notes of a static laden Silver and Gold by Dolly Parton.

Dear Vanessa,

    I hope this note finds you good. I won't be able to make your wedding, but I'm wearing that white dress you gave me just in case. Ever since you left here things have gone downhill and I find I've lost more than I thought I'd ever had. I've started using again with the help of that bastard Tim and the money you left me. You've always been too kind, Vanessa. Sorry I had to use the money for the thing you hated most. I hope you can forgive me one day and maybe if you have a daughter you could name her after your little sister or kinda just like her middle name or something. I'd love that. There's not much time left so I'll have to get to the point now. I decided to take the easy way out 'cause I've never been that strong without you ya know. But don't cry over me 'cause I'm going to be smiling over you soon.

Love,
Shirley

When the cops found Shirley her memories were spattered amongst white specks of powdered skull on the tarred walls behind her. Dark blood was running down her face pooling in the corners of her upturned lips. A Clint Black song was breaking through the static and one of the officers started humming along leaving his partner to show all the shock and horror for the both of them. It was in fact his partner's first day on the job and his partner's first brain splattered wall. The seasoned officer called it in on his radio as he thought he'll get used to it and maybe start to enjoy--he'll have to in this town. Officer Joseph O'Reilly had seen a lot of suicides, homicides, or fucked up shit to sum it up, in his years working for L.A.P.D and this was just another. Of course there were a few "perks" Joe pointed out to his partner under the guise of levity. He tapped Shirley's "tits" that lay exposed after the shotgun knocked a beaded strap off her slumping shoulder, and he grinned as he pointed to her "pussy" peeking out from under the dingy dress that rode up while she was adjusting herself to the proper angle. Joe's partner wasn't amused and took off to the front of the house holding his guts in with all his might. Joe humming while examining the body thought to himself, "The filth of this town is seeping into everything and everyone." He lifted Shirley's bruised arm and rubbed his crotch with her hand allowing her trigger finger to trace the line of his zipper finally resting it on his left thigh. Shirley's dirty fingernail left a small indentation in the dark fabric of Joe's pants. He admired its crescent shape on his way out to meet the officers arriving to the scene. The mark faded with each step but the memory would stay with Joe for a lifetime.

Tim,

    The money is under the kitchen sink and the police said you can claim the gun at any time.

Vanessa

Tim was elated to find a short note from Vanessa on a postcard with the picture of some fantasy beach on the front, but he was uneasy at the thought of the careless choice of communication. Anyone could have found the note and it would have raised some questions neither of them wanted to be answered. He moved quickly to tie up loose ends so he could get to the money and pay off a back due debt that threatened at least his ability to walk and possibly his life if someone had a thirst for blood when they caught up to him. Upon entering the old house Tim noticed that little had changed since the last time he'd been around. He tried to figure out the exact day that was but the best he could come up with was a couple of days before Vanessa moved out. There was an odd smell he couldn't place in the room he dropped in to through an unlocked window. On his way to the kitchen he passed Shirley's room and even though he went over his planned route millions of times he stopped out of curiosity. The first thing that caught his eye were the stains on the wall behind her bed. He followed them down to blood soaked sheets and blankets and finally to some partial footprints in the matted carpet at the side of the bed. The footprints made Tim queasy more so than the stained wall and blood crusted blankets. Staring at the absence in the room finally sent chills down his spine, so he moved on to the kitchen to get what he came for and get out. Tim reached the sink and grabbed the sack and his salvation. It was empty so were his eyes and his heart beat so fast he thought his arm would torpedo off. Fear was replaced by rage and a Tim unlike the calculating one everybody knew set off to find Vanessa. On his way out he noticed what was responsible for the odd smell. One of the large walls in the family room had been scrubbed bare of paint with some sort of under the sink cleaning product. He imagined Shirley must have been crawling out of her skin after he cut the supply of drugs he had been providing for her two weeks before. She lasted a lot longer than he thought she would without his "generosity."

Part II-Last Resort

A week and a half before Shirley painted her bedroom walls with sadness she was begging for a miracle to stop her suffering. She'd looked under every cushion and behind every door for a stray bag or spoon that was overlooked when the supply was ample. Shirley found empty bags and dust on all of a hundred or so tours of the house. Each tour more frantic than the last ending with Shirley foaming at the mouth desperately crying through crooked teeth across cracked and bleeding lips for God or whoever to make the pain stop. Time stood still in a pool of nausea--it slowed in the bolts of her angry back leaving Shirley with little room to move. She watched the minutes on the clock across the room and felt like a week passed after each tick. The walls are dirty filled a small free thought and Shirley decided to pass the time cleaning them. She was tired of the filth or at least tired of it for the moment. She found a half empty bottle of Pinesol, an old rag, and a bucket in a closet in the hall. After emptying the cleaner in the bucket she filled it the rest of the way with water from the bathtub faucet. As she carried it back to the living room half of it spilled on the carpet, but that was no worry of hers. Hours passed while she scrubbed the wall in the living room flaking old yellowed paint off the wall on to the floor. Most of the wall was left bare when she noticed six hours had passed. At her wits end she resigned herself to sleeping with Tim in hopes he would change his mind about keeping her fixed. She composed herself and put on a little make-up before she went next door to drop hints and shake her ass. When Tim opened the door he had a look on his face as if he had been expecting her but Shirley didn't notice anything but the pile of happiness on the coffee table in his den. Tim asked her what she was doing around his place because she knew he told her only days before that he didn't want anything to do with her. Instead of hinting Shirley driven by necessity blurted out her intentions. Tim slapped her and made it clear he wouldn't be taking her rotten pussy as trade for any of his drugs not even an aspirin. If she wanted to shoot something up he offered her his shotgun and told her to have at it. Shirley snarled and let loose a flurry of empty insults as Tim slammed the door. As she was running back home she heard him say that she'd be back sooner or later. And she knew he was right.

Part III-Rising Prices

Tim caught up with Vanessa in her new driveway. She was visibly shocked to see him; her face that usually displayed a scowl to mask her feelings was interrupted momentarily. She ushered him into the house making sure no one was around to see them go in together. Tim explained that the sack was empty when he got there as he nervously picked at a mole on his arm. He made sure she understood he needed the money or he'd be asked to pay his debt in flesh. Vanessa didn't have good news or any money for Tim so she wished him luck and showed him the front door. Tim resisting her haste spewed out words a mile a minute in hopes one or two would get through to what compassion Vanessa had left. If there was any good in her none of his words found it and the door slammed behind him. He only had one option now and that was to get out of town before any harm found him. After Tim got back to his house he grabbed what little he'd need for a long trip and peeled out of town. With no money and half a tank of gas he wasn't going to get that far, but that was the least of his worries. There was someone with a dull blade and indifference trailing him. A month later Tim was behind a building in Nevada with nine of his fingers jutting out from nine stab wounds in his chest. Vanessa scanned through the paper while watching Martha Stewart and having her morning coffee. Vanessa's husband came down the stairs as a commercial blared out of the speaker system urging people to try the latest quick fix for bulging stomachs and lumpy thighs. He pointed to a dirty slip of paper on the counter and nodded in her direction. He took a bite out of a donut, grabbed his coffee, and mumbled with his mouth full that it was found in a stack of papers from her old house. He was out the door before she could even get her hands on the tattered receipt from Wal-Mart. Puzzled Vanessa started reading the shaky handwriting on the back. It explained where the money went and made her chuckle about the idea of a daughter named Shirley. She couldn't have been more pleased with herself as Martha returned with a recipe for hazelnut cookies which Vanessa jotted down next to an article about a man found gruesomely murdered in Nevada. She didn't bother reading any further than the headline. It didn't concern her. Nothing did anymore.

Part IV-Endurance

Vanessa's marriage hit a rocky spot about 5 years ago and now nearing their 9th anniversary it seemed the cause was lost in broken jaws, black eyes, and searing words. Her husband changed almost immediately after they were married but she endured his fists and accepted his apologies because she had nowhere to go and he controlled all the money. She had tried to leave one time before when he was out late as he usually was, but he found her a few days later and made it clear that he would kill her if she ever tried anything like that again. Her husband's mother tried to comfort her but always ended up making excuses for him instead.  She insisted the stress on him of being on the force and seeing all that awful stuff he saw on a daily basis caused him to drink and swear at her and that he didn't mean any harm by it. She'd always end her monolouge staring up at the ceiling, "With he needs you." Vanessa quietly endured his mother's jabs as well. Vanessa's husband came home late one evening surrounded in a cloud of perfume, sweat, and liquor. She confronted him about it and he flew off the handle. He grabbed her by the neck and dragged her up the stairs to their bedroom where he tossed her around like a rag doll and smacked her with a closed fist. Vanessa felt freedom seeping in when he pulled back his arm and punched her in the stomach with all his might. Three hours later she was dead, hanging halfway off the bed with cold red blood and saliva stringing out of her gaping mouth. Joe was compelled to mark her forehead with his beautiful crescent and after doing so he packed a small bag, pinned the postcard she left Tim on her dress, and fucked his wife one last time. He slipped out the side door into the night. Joe O'Reilly was on the prowl and he was hungry.

Description
Part I-Filth

The alarm went off. A mix of static and country twang jarred her from the best dream she'd had since her sister left her alone to move in with her would be husband. Shirley hadn't taken off her white dress yet and her hair was tangled with a thick mixture of oil and tobacco smoke. Her face was covered in painful acne and a thin coat of dirt from the sweat soaked pillows she buried her face in the night before. Pushing herself up with all the effort weak track marked arms could muster she leaned against the headboard and propped the neighbor's shot gun under her chin. She reached over and hit the snooze button on the alarm clock before cocking the gun. 9 minutes passed and a gunshot covered up the first notes of a static laden Silver and Gold by Dolly Parton.

Dear Vanessa,

    I hope this note finds you good. I won't be able to make your wedding, but I'm wearing that white dress you gave me just in case. Ever since you left here things have gone downhill and I find I've lost more than I thought I'd ever had. I've started using again with the help of that bastard Tim and the money you left me. You've always been too kind, Vanessa. Sorry I had to use the money for the thing you hated most. I hope you can forgive me one day and maybe if you have a daughter you could name her after your little sister or kinda just like her middle name or something. I'd love that. There's not much time left so I'll have to get to the point now. I decided to take the easy way out 'cause I've never been that strong without you ya know. But don't cry over me 'cause I'm going to be smiling over you soon.

Love,
Shirley

When the cops found Shirley her memories were spattered amongst white specks of powdered skull on the tarred walls behind her. Dark blood was running down her face pooling in the corners of her upturned lips. A Clint Black song was breaking through the static and one of the officers started humming along leaving his partner to show all the shock and horror for the both of them. It was in fact his partner's first day on the job and his partner's first brain splattered wall. The seasoned officer called it in on his radio as he thought he'll get used to it and maybe start to enjoy--he'll have to in this town. Officer Joseph O'Reilly had seen a lot of suicides, homicides, or fucked up shit to sum it up, in his years working for L.A.P.D and this was just another. Of course there were a few "perks" Joe pointed out to his partner under the guise of levity. He tapped Shirley's "tits" that lay exposed after the shotgun knocked a beaded strap off her slumping shoulder, and he grinned as he pointed to her "pussy" peeking out from under the dingy dress that rode up while she was adjusting herself to the proper angle. Joe's partner wasn't amused and took off to the front of the house holding his guts in with all his might. Joe humming while examining the body thought to himself, "The filth of this town is seeping into everything and everyone." He lifted Shirley's bruised arm and rubbed his crotch with her hand allowing her trigger finger to trace the line of his zipper finally resting it on his left thigh. Shirley's dirty fingernail left a small indentation in the dark fabric of Joe's pants. He admired its crescent shape on his way out to meet the officers arriving to the scene. The mark faded with each step but the memory would stay with Joe for a lifetime.

Tim,

    The money is under the kitchen sink and the police said you can claim the gun at any time.

Vanessa

Tim was elated to find a short note from Vanessa on a postcard with the picture of some fantasy beach on the front, but he was uneasy at the thought of the careless choice of communication. Anyone could have found the note and it would have raised some questions neither of them wanted to be answered. He moved quickly to tie up loose ends so he could get to the money and pay off a back due debt that threatened at least his ability to walk and possibly his life if someone had a thirst for blood when they caught up to him. Upon entering the old house Tim noticed that little had changed since the last time he'd been around. He tried to figure out the exact day that was but the best he could come up with was a couple of days before Vanessa moved out. There was an odd smell he couldn't place in the room he dropped in to through an unlocked window. On his way to the kitchen he passed Shirley's room and even though he went over his planned route millions of times he stopped out of curiosity. The first thing that caught his eye were the stains on the wall behind her bed. He followed them down to blood soaked sheets and blankets and finally to some partial footprints in the matted carpet at the side of the bed. The footprints made Tim queasy more so than the stained wall and blood crusted blankets. Staring at the absence in the room finally sent chills down his spine, so he moved on to the kitchen to get what he came for and get out. Tim reached the sink and grabbed the sack and his salvation. It was empty so were his eyes and his heart beat so fast he thought his arm would torpedo off. Fear was replaced by rage and a Tim unlike the calculating one everybody knew set off to find Vanessa. On his way out he noticed what was responsible for the odd smell. One of the large walls in the family room had been scrubbed bare of paint with some sort of under the sink cleaning product. He imagined Shirley must have been crawling out of her skin after he cut the supply of drugs he had been providing for her two weeks before. She lasted a lot longer than he thought she would without his "generosity."

Part II-Last Resort

A week and a half before Shirley painted her bedroom walls with sadness she was begging for a miracle to stop her suffering. She'd looked under every cushion and behind every door for a stray bag or spoon that was overlooked when the supply was ample. Shirley found empty bags and dust on all of a hundred or so tours of the house. Each tour more frantic than the last ending with Shirley foaming at the mouth desperately crying through crooked teeth across cracked and bleeding lips for God or whoever to make the pain stop. Time stood still in a pool of nausea--it slowed in the bolts of her angry back leaving Shirley with little room to move. She watched the minutes on the clock across the room and felt like a week passed after each tick. The walls are dirty filled a small free thought and Shirley decided to pass the time cleaning them. She was tired of the filth or at least tired of it for the moment. She found a half empty bottle of Pinesol, an old rag, and a bucket in a closet in the hall. After emptying the cleaner in the bucket she filled it the rest of the way with water from the bathtub faucet. As she carried it back to the living room half of it spilled on the carpet, but that was no worry of hers. Hours passed while she scrubbed the wall in the living room flaking old yellowed paint off the wall on to the floor. Most of the wall was left bare when she noticed six hours had passed. At her wits end she resigned herself to sleeping with Tim in hopes he would change his mind about keeping her fixed. She composed herself and put on a little make-up before she went next door to drop hints and shake her ass. When Tim opened the door he had a look on his face as if he had been expecting her but Shirley didn't notice anything but the pile of happiness on the coffee table in his den. Tim asked her what she was doing around his place because she knew he told her only days before that he didn't want anything to do with her. Instead of hinting Shirley driven by necessity blurted out her intentions. Tim slapped her and made it clear he wouldn't be taking her rotten pussy as trade for any of his drugs not even an aspirin. If she wanted to shoot something up he offered her his shotgun and told her to have at it. Shirley snarled and let loose a flurry of empty insults as Tim slammed the door. As she was running back home she heard him say that she'd be back sooner or later. And she knew he was right.

Part III-Rising Prices

Tim caught up with Vanessa in her new driveway. She was visibly shocked to see him; her face that usually displayed a scowl to mask her feelings was interrupted momentarily. She ushered him into the house making sure no one was around to see them go in together. Tim explained that the sack was empty when he got there as he nervously picked at a mole on his arm. He made sure she understood he needed the money or he'd be asked to pay his debt in flesh. Vanessa didn't have good news or any money for Tim so she wished him luck and showed him the front door. Tim resisting her haste spewed out words a mile a minute in hopes one or two would get through to what compassion Vanessa had left. If there was any good in her none of his words found it and the door slammed behind him. He only had one option now and that was to get out of town before any harm found him. After Tim got back to his house he grabbed what little he'd need for a long trip and peeled out of town. With no money and half a tank of gas he wasn't going to get that far, but that was the least of his worries. There was someone with a dull blade and indifference trailing him. A month later Tim was behind a building in Nevada with nine of his fingers jutting out from nine stab wounds in his chest. Vanessa scanned through the paper while watching Martha Stewart and having her morning coffee. Vanessa's husband came down the stairs as a commercial blared out of the speaker system urging people to try the latest quick fix for bulging stomachs and lumpy thighs. He pointed to a dirty slip of paper on the counter and nodded in her direction. He took a bite out of a donut, grabbed his coffee, and mumbled with his mouth full that it was found in a stack of papers from her old house. He was out the door before she could even get her hands on the tattered receipt from Wal-Mart. Puzzled Vanessa started reading the shaky handwriting on the back. It explained where the money went and made her chuckle about the idea of a daughter named Shirley. She couldn't have been more pleased with herself as Martha returned with a recipe for hazelnut cookies which Vanessa jotted down next to an article about a man found gruesomely murdered in Nevada. She didn't bother reading any further than the headline. It didn't concern her. Nothing did anymore.

Part IV-Endurance

Vanessa's marriage hit a rocky spot about 5 years ago and now nearing their 9th anniversary it seemed the cause was lost in broken jaws, black eyes, and searing words. Her husband changed almost immediately after they were married but she endured his fists and accepted his apologies because she had nowhere to go and he controlled all the money. She had tried to leave one time before when he was out late as he usually was, but he found her a few days later and made it clear that he would kill her if she ever tried anything like that again. Her husband's mother tried to comfort her but always ended up making excuses for him instead.  She insisted the stress on him of being on the force and seeing all that awful stuff he saw on a daily basis caused him to drink and swear at her and that he didn't mean any harm by it. She'd always end her monolouge staring up at the ceiling, "With he needs you." Vanessa quietly endured his mother's jabs as well. Vanessa's husband came home late one evening surrounded in a cloud of perfume, sweat, and liquor. She confronted him about it and he flew off the handle. He grabbed her by the neck and dragged her up the stairs to their bedroom where he tossed her around like a rag doll and smacked her with a closed fist. Vanessa felt freedom seeping in when he pulled back his arm and punched her in the stomach with all his might. Three hours later she was dead, hanging halfway off the bed with cold red blood and saliva stringing out of her gaping mouth. Joe was compelled to mark her forehead with his beautiful crescent and after doing so he packed a small bag, pinned the postcard she left Tim on her dress, and fucked his wife one last time. He slipped out the side door into the night. Joe O'Reilly was on the prowl and he was hungry.