Home

BitchFight.

Updated, partly rewritten April 2010.

Bitch-fight 
A short story.
By JK Brennan.


She didn't look up. She refused to look up. She listened hard though as her guts sank down  in a deep acidic pit, which contents despite every effort to control the turmoil, crept through her body, making her skin hot, then freeze. She shivered slightly and the book trembled for a moment in her hand. She listened. Didn’t look up, just listened hard. Footsteps, a metallic hollow echo. She knew. She just knew. 

She shouldn't have known. They were just steps coming down the stone steps. But the vague recollection had instantly turned to knowledge. She shouldn't be surprised. It had always been that way. She had always known. She should after all know herself. 

The sound, thud thud thud from hard rubber soled footwear, came down the stairs to hesitate for a second or two on the platform tiles before taking another couple of steps and then finally stopping. There was a thin squeek as damp rubber turned and rubbed against glazed ceramics. Not loud but intrusive, sharp, hard. There was something about those strides, and then the pause. Something she had always hated. A deliberate slowness, the way they seemed to have a goal, yet never hurried. 

The lower level of the Stockholm central station was silent, somewhat chilly in the late hour. Suppose it could be early too, depending on how you see things. The stairs that descended from the upper regions faced two parallel train tracks stretching away into dark tunnels more than forty meters further away. One track on each side of a mosaic tiled floor in grays browns and misty blues. Straight ahead, in the centre of the big floor, a square cube of painted concrete, a utility shack of today, took pride of place. A closed metal door faced the north tracks, a single bench stood with its back against the cube, facing the south tracks. 

A lone woman and a lone man shared the bench this night. Jenny 1.0 was waiting for the next ride home and the man was finding refuge from the streets above. He would be escorted out in due time, along with his bottle. Jenny One kept her eyes on the letters on the page in front of her, words that had suddenly transformed into meaningless black scribbles. Kings latest vision of horror didn't seem so scary anymore, reality was way more fucked up than any made up story. 

She sure knew that stride. She wanted to recoil from the maker of them. She still didn't look up, but kept listening. She was suddenly aware of a quickly growing rumble and looked up, not towards the stairs, but at the arriving train. It wasn't hers. Trains to Haninge came once an hour at this time of night and she had missed the last one by ten minutes. She still had forty minutes to wait. She watched while placing a finger between the pages she was reading as the train opened all the doors with a release of pressure and tension of springs, just to spit out one single person. The old woman stepped out on the platform and stood there for a moment while adjusting the purse strap on her shoulder. A look of apprehension appeared to be permanently attached to the round face of a typical Granma. The expression deepened as she noticed the group further down on the platform. A number of teenagers stood idling near a wall, too far away to reveal words but not too far away to hide a raw tone in their voices. 

Jenny assessed the gathering of kids for a moment and deemed them for the most part harmless. Loud didn't mean dangerous. If you come across a silent person where thoughts are hidden, intent impossible to extract, then by all means beware. Those kids had a mouth, no brain, no harm. She dismissed them. She turned towards the sweet old lady that had started to make her way along the platform as the train pulled away again. Grandma glanced at the Jenny and the sleeping bum sharing the single bench as she passed it, meeting Jenny's eyes for a split second before she looked away and hurried across the tiles. 

Jenny One watched her as she approached the bottom of the stairs, the only exit from the platform except for endless dark tunnels that no one in their right mind would even enter. She watched in fascinated dread as the lady came closer to Jenny Two that had stopped, apparently adjusting the ear buds that blasted away at her eardrums. 

The updated version of Jenny couldn't give a shit. No matter what the subject was, she just simply didn't give a fuck. The lining of her brown and green camouflage pants hugged the soft skin nearly two inches below her navel where a gold ring was attached. From one belt loop dangled an I-Pod and in one front pocket bulged something that probably was a cell phone. Or a giant chunk of hash, One reflected and almost smiled. The frayed edge, obviously the result of ripped off sleeves, framed winter pale and distinctively exercised shoulders. She stood with her head bent down and pushed something on the IPod with a hand displaying only one decoration, a wide silver band on the thumb. Her head bobbed slightly in sync with whatever she was listening to. One of her equally frayed sneakers on her small feet tapped slowly against the tile. Her hair was cut short now, but no real hairdo could be seen as a black baseball cap covered it, turned backwards. Through the opening between cap and the strap, in an obscenely cocky angle, a deep purple blackish lock of hair protruded. Her face was clean, One noted. No makeup. Not that the other woman’s face needed any decoration besides what was already there, permanently etched in the skin. A blue dragon stretched out lazily on one cheek with its tail trailing down and across her neck in a possessive strangle-hold. The resting dragons head lay high up on the brow while the only visible limb, the front left leg and foot, or was it called a paw, dug its needle sharp claws into the very left edge of Jenny Two's left eyebrow. No makeup could distract from that. 

Two suddenly stood still. The only thing moving was her head slowly rising and the eyes assessing, calculating. She watched the approaching grandma. Two stood at the bottom of the stairs and Grandma would have to pass close by. She kept her eyes on the lady and waited as a grin slowly spread on her face. The older woman kept walking, deliberately not looking anywhere but at the stairs. She was almost there, almost home free. She was finally passing the younger woman. Almost there. 
Two grinned. White knuckles. A chubby hand grasping the purse strap as if it was a life line, protecting her. Better have something better in there than pictures of the grand kids Lady. Two suddenly moved, pushed her upper body forward and shoved her face close to Grandmas curly head. 
"What sup girlfriend? The words were loud and shrill, rising in pitch towards the end. It sounded far too loud in the cold eerie space, bounced against hard surfaces. Laughter erupted from the group of teenagers somewhere in the distant reaches of the platform.

Grandma’s steps faltered. A pitiless little shriek came out of her. She turned towards the younger woman and stared. She gaped and took in the beautiful, horrible, face in a second, in mid stride. Then the teeth clacked together and she tore her eyes away. The girl was grinning at her. So many teeth, and what was that on her face. Oh dear, oh dear. Then the step she had begun moved her forward although in a sideways manner. It did take her past and the precarious momentum brought her to the bottom of the stairs. Her hand flew to her chest. Calm little heart, Oh dear, calm yourself. It's only a girl. Nowadays.... She stumbled once and then she was sprinting up the stone steps towards the upper levels. To safety. She had always disliked the late shift. Enough was enough. Volunteering, bah. It wasn't worth it anymore.

Jenny Two chuckled deep in her throat and shook her head, slowly from side to side. A movement that transformed into an up and down bobbing to what she was listening to. She let go of her I-pod and looked around at the station for the first time. Her face froze. Someone she knew, fuck me sideways. She stared. Just sitting there, reading. Books.  Waste of fucking time. She pulled her top lip up in disgust. Who cares what some rotting retard thought about anything a hundred years ago. Philosophy and poetry. She shivered. Teachers had bitched about shit like that. Teachers thought they knew about life. They didn't have a fucking life, that's why. Fags and nigger lesbies all of them. Had never bothered with that shit. Why read words on fucking paper when there was music? Movies? Parties? 

She stood still for a long moment, frowning. She tilted her head to one side and one corner of her mouth drew up a fraction as she watched the other woman. She wasn't totally sure about this but as far as she knew people that read books actually turned a page now and then. Her buddy over there didn't turn any pages. Now Jenny Two took a closer look. 

The two people on the bench couldn't be all that friendly with each other, that was obvious. The bitch sat as far away from the sleeping old drunk as she could. Two let her eyes glide over the closer figure, ignoring the old man. A pair of leather pants covered the legs that were stretched out in front of her. Fashionably mottled brownish gray leather ended with a pair of dark brown boots in brushed leather impressed with even darker symbols. Jenny 2.0 raised her eyebrows in reluctant admiration that she would never admit to. She instantly brushed it away in a flash of contempt. Jenny 1.0 wore a black v-necked sweater in some silky material and long mahogany hair fell over her shoulders and placed half her face in shadow. 

But there was no doubt.  A face so well known, so like hers it was atrocious. The old emotion surfaced and started glowing, burning, growing. Heat rose on her neck. She tensed and closed her eyes for a second. Controlling, forced the rage down to an acceptable level. An uneasy rest. A pinpoint of control in a rockslide of emotion. She didn't like it. She breathed slowly through her teeth. She fought it, it settled. For now. She smiled brightly and started walking. 

Jenny One heard her approach but refused to look up. She stubbornly kept her eyes on the words in a story she had totally forgotten what it was about. Deliberate steps slowed and stopped. She could hear a tinny beat from the ear buds. She could almost recognize it. One of that wanna-be rappers own tracks no doubt. Something fast, hard and violent for sure. Yeah, what else was there? Then she recognized the sound. She had heard that particular track just days ago. It was not only dark and violent, it was about someone. She sighed as she remembered the lyrics. "I heard you're playing tonight, let's have some fun, I'll bring my gun." Not a threat, a promise. Was just talk though. Just... She drew breath through her nose. Just talk. A bad feeling. She had a bad, bad feeling.  
Just talk from a big mouth and a disturbed mind. It was after all a rappers prerogative. Attack and insult is ok, as long as it has a catchy beat and for the most part legal samples. She pushed the disturbing thought along with the irrational fear away with an effort. 

The tinny beat abruptly cut off and sounds of breathing filled the silence from two directions. For a moment that was all there was. She tensed. She wished it wouldn't bother her but having that bitch standing over her, watching, most likely grinning, tore at her nerves. She lowered the book but didn't look up. She waited. She knew she could wait as long as she needed to. She knew that Jenny Two didn't have that ability. She focused her eyes on the wall beyond the tracks, a billboard screamed out some flashy product. A cell phone that would make life so easy, a brand of tampons that didn't leak, she didn't know. It was only colors, shapes and useless information.

Two stared down at the stubborn head. Up close, she noticed a thin gold chain hanging from Ones neck. A pendant in the shape of the letter S hung from the end. She stared at the gothic script for a long moment. She reached out to put a finger on the gold letter. One didn't twitch, didn't move. She just kept her eyes on something in the middle distance. But two knew she was getting to her, the tension in the jaw revealed the fake cool for what it was. Fear. She held the little pendant between thumb and index finger, turning and twisting it, watching it reflect the cold light. She licked her lips. 
"So you're fucking that asshole book nerd again are you?" One blinked but refused to reply. Two started grinning. One sighed deeply and looked up at her other self. Their eyes met and stayed locked for the exact number of seconds needed to communicate what needed to be known. 

One jerked her head up in a reverse nod.
"At least I'm getting some. A bitch like you could never have a guy like that." She spread her fingers displaying her palm, waved her hand from side to side a couple of times while hitching up her perfectly shaped eyebrows. 
"You know, like someone with a real job? Ever heard of that?" Her voice was low and somewhat hoarse from a day without saying much. 
"Just look at that face." Two nodded and grinned, dropped the necklace and grabbed on to Ones bra strap that happened to be visible. She pulled on it and let it go. One grimaced but in disgust, not in pain although the elastic snap hurt like hell. She clenched her teeth and forced a smile, keeping her eyes leveled on Two.
"Maybe" she said in a low even voice.
"Maybe you shouldn't touch girl's bras. It might give people the wrong impression." Twos face stiffened for a moment. One had touched a weak point in the otherwise so impenetrable mask that was Two's confidence. One' smiled sweetly and tilted her head to one side before she continued in the same low voice, now edged by revulsion.
"Butch." Two took a quick step back and uttered something that might have been a laugh. She stared at one and the grin returned, but there was something else behind it. Something inside was quickly growing out of control. She nodded at the sleeping drunk. 
"That your daddy bitch?" One laughed and threw her head back.
"Damn right!" She chuckled.
"An old drunk is better than a kiddy fucker any day." Twos grin faded completely and One couldn't stop herself from continuing. She knew it was a mistake, but it had finally surfaced. Fear transforming to rage. Her heart beat harder, a fist of acid rose in her throat. She didn't even know why she bothered with this.... this traitor. This bitch of a whore. But it didn't matter now. 

She sucked her lips in between her teeth and bit hard for a moment. She dropped the book on the floor, stared hard at Two, curving her lips in disgust.
"So how is your Daddy these days? Still at Hinseberg with the other peeeedophiles?" She drew out the word and spat out the last syllable as if the taste of it was about to gag her. 

The hand seemed to come from nowhere, so fucking fast. The groan of rage was not enough warning. Excruciating, so sudden, so fast she couldn't think. Two grabbed her hair and pulled. She screamed in pain and surprise. She damned herself for not seeing it coming. She reeled forward and was off the bench in a second. She was pulled off it, away from it, dragged by her hair. Pain exploded at the back of her neck where hairs were pulled loose. She jerked her hands up and twisted her entire body to lessen the pull, escape from the pain. The grip was too hard though. She knew damn well that she should have cut it off that time she had it dyed. She fucking knew it. The thought hit her in a flash between gasps of pain. Two pulled her. Grunting from the strain. One could not resist though. She moved where the steel grip led her. Around the corner of the utility building. She could do nothing. Incoherent thoughts flickered in her mind, a thousand memories, innumerable memories. All in an instant everything came to her. Everything was clear now in the midst of pain in the moment that was now. Before could never come again, shouldn't come again. It was too late. She didn't understand how it could have taken so long. Everything past suddenly flowed forth, a torrent of what had been and what must be converged in a hard icy knot of understanding. . Everything was clear now. The time for flight was over. So was the hiding. 

Fight. She had to fight, not run as she had for two decades. The running was over. She tried to collect her thoughts and grind them into something that could help her now. She cursed, silently, as there was no room in her chest for speech. Groaning, she tried to grab the hands holding her. Clawing at them, uselessly. They held on too hard. Near the neck, pulling up, pulling hard. Two pulled breath through her teeth, pushed it out through her nose, fast and erratic. Two used both hands to pull. One dug her nails in. digging and scraping at the skin. Tried to pull them away. Nails dug deep, scratched, cut, drew blood. It had no effect other than a hardening grip on her hair. Two suddenly pulled One up straight and pushed. There was no time to see the concrete wall rush at her face before it hit her. The thick layer of paint covering the rough surface did little to protect her. If anything, the uneven application of paint had left sharp protrusions that made an excellent scrubber. It tore deep scratches in the skin just above her left eyebrow. Two pulled her back and she saw the blood just before her head hit again. Hard. Two kept pushing and grinding her face into the wall, using her body to hold her in place.  One fought against the relentless pressure. Got her face a few millimeters away. Two used her movement to jerk her back again, bring her off balance and shoved once more. 
She wouldn't stop. She would never stop. Jenny One couldn't see through the blood running into one eye, the flashes of sickly light, and the pain. Something. 

Then she remembered something. Something she had read. Something someone had told her. It didn't matter. She managed a small step back, away from the wall, and let her knees fold beneath her. She bent her head forward, ignoring the pain in the back of her neck. The bitch behind her did exactly what she was hoping. She instinctively followed the sudden movement down with her own body, reaching the absolutely wrong conclusion. That was what One wanted. 

Bitch! Two screamed. She let go of the hair and reached to pull the faltering body up again. She wouldn't get away that easy, the bitch. The fucking bitch. She had it coming. This was it.
She grabbed the back of Ones shirt with both hands and straightened up slightly. She needed to pull her up again. She tightened her grip. The splatter of blood, her blood, caught her attention for a split second. 

One didn't really need that extra moment. She made her move. She pushed up with all the strength she had left in her legs. Up and back. Two was growling. That was funny. Like an animal. Grunting, snarling. One heard her clearly and time seemed stuck in that moment of explosive movement. She had her. She should learn to shut up. She thought just before the back of her skull connected with Twos face. Not only her face. Pain shot through her head but it was nothing. What she heard was more relevant right now. More satisfying than.... than the sweetest orgasm. The sound of Twos nose shattering. The abrupt stop of those stupid noises that bitch had made was almost as good. 

Twos grip fell away instantly. One allowed herself a moment of surprised pleasure that it had worked. She hadn't been thinking too long, just acted. This surprised her and pleased her. She couldn't allow herself more than a moment of this though. It wasn't over. It was far from over and she turned around. 

She straightened her back as she turned and the world tilted dangerously. She gained control over her shaky legs and resisted the urge to put her hands on her face. She wanted to know the damage but didn't really have to feel it to know it was bad. Her forehead throbbed and blood ran freely from more than one place. The world tilted again and she fought the fog. Was she okay? She felt strange now. As if her brain suddenly had realized it had been bounced around and was about to protest fervently against the abuse. She couldn't let it fail on her now.  Think. She stared at Jenny Two that was truly a double for a dizzying moment. Two hunched over women, fuzzy at the edges, swimming in and out of focus, holding two broken noses with four hands covered in blood that dripped down on two, no three, glazed tiles. 
"Whoa!" Jenny One thought distantly and closed one eye. Better. She reeled back and shook her head. She didn't have time for this. Jenny Two was slowly straightening up, taking her hands away from her face. Her eyes didn't leave Ones for a moment.  For the first time, true fear trickled into Ones mind but she didn't have time for that either. Fear couldn't help her, only action could. Two would not be so careless again she was sure of it.
 
The fucking bitch had tricked her. Tricked HER! Two watched One reel backwards and she started to take her hands off her face. The pain was nothing. The bitch would pay for every drop of blood though. Every single drop, every single lie, every accusation, every insult. She would pay. She straightened up slowly. The bitch had no more fight in her. She could tell. She was a chicken. A snotty little preppy slut. She wouldn’t.

One threw herself forward before Two was completely upright. Two backed away but not fast enough. She had been taken by surprise. Again. She caught two in the chest with both palms   and landed with all her weight on top of her. Two sprawled in surprise for half a second before she could move. One used her leverage and pulled her knee up, planted it on twos stomach.  Air hissed out of twos ruined nose but it had less effect than One had hoped. Twos abs were hard and she was prepared. A normal person would curl up in agony, taking minutes to regain breath. Two was not normal. Two was manic. A kick boxer. Two registered the momentary surprise on Ones face and drew her lips back. 
"Get off me you bitch." Her fist moved with lightning speed and made contact with Ones right side. Ones already precarious balance on top of Two faltered and even if she hadn't misjudged Twos abdominal resistance, the pain would have thrown her off. She lay on her side, looking up as Two made it to her feet. Slowly. Mistake. She had forgotten. A tiny splash caught her attention. She gasped for air but it wouldn't come without pain. So much pain. It had landed among others, some now smeared and streaked on the tile, just in front of Twos right sneaker.  She raised her eyes to the source of the blood.  
They were so like hers, the hands, red with blood now, fisted and hard, ready for more. 

All was still for a moment. One finally looked up all the way and what she saw scared her more than the threat of violence. Murder. And emotional void. There was no compassion in those eyes, no sign pain, just cold resolve. They stared at each other. One blinked furiously to clear her eye from the red. All the red. Two with a dispassionate contempt.

Maintaining her stare, Two adjusted her shirt, pulled the sticky fabric away from her skin and held it there for a moment before letting it fall back into place. She grimaced. 
Then she fell forward. Before One could move more than to instinctively brace for the blow the fist connected once more with Ones side, not totally protected by her arm.  She kicked out with one leg but only managed to turn herself half way around when her foot found nothing but empty air. The next blow came from behind and set her lower back in flames, just below the ribs. One gasped. . 
"That was for my fucking nose Bitch! Two screamed. One hardly heard it. Barely noticed that the rage was back. She had to get away. She scrambled to get up on her feet, pulled her knees up under her.  It was a mistake. The fist landed again. The aim was perfect. Two didn't hold back and she knew what she was doing. The hard fist struck Ones lower back dead center. It had enough power to push at least one disc out of alignment. The pain paralyzed her and she screamed. Her eyes stared wildly at a blossom of bright light. Gasping in the explosive blinding pain. Pain. It made her gag, gasp, shake from the ice and heat coursing through her, nauseating her.  

Two stepped back and watched the object of all of her hatred, all of her shame, all resentment grasp at the blood slick tiles in agony. 
"That was for all of your lies Bitch." she hissed. She was breathing through her mouth, straining for each breath, tasting blood that ran freely over her lips. She spat out a glob of blood and saliva. She wiped her mouth with the front of her shirt. The improvement was only marginal and the movement brought a fresh flare of pain to blossom in her ruined nose. 
"Bitch Bitch Bitch!" She groaned and turned from the pathetic sight. The mist of rage cleared once more. Was replaced with cold. It hardened, solidified. She reached into her pocket.

One's back burned. She couldn't move. The agony was exquisite, so sharp her stomach turned. Even her shallow breathing spiked the pain for each inhale. She forced herself to lie still, but she knew she had to move. Sounds of steps moved away from her, but not far. They stopped. Other steps moved in another direction, hurried, shuffling. She looked towards the sound. She caught a blurry glimpse of a cowering shape as it moved out of sight up the stairs. The old drunk had made his escape in the momentary stillness. She closed her eyes. Thanks for the fucking help asshole. The thought was bitter, the light too sharp to be stopped by her eyelids, the tile cold and hard, slick with patches of blood. She squeezed her eyes hard but opened them wide as the danger hit her. Where was she?
She fought against a new assault of pain from her back. A wave of nausea burned its way through her body and she broke out in cold sweat. 

She had to move. But everything was quiet, or drowned out by hissing air, her own pounding heart. She couldn't hear her. Where the hell was she? The pain was fading though. Just a bit. She lay on her side and she could see the floor stretching out before her until it ended abruptly. The tracks. Where was the other track? She heard a sound, a step? A breath? A laugh? Jenny didn't think, she rolled away from the kick she knew with absolute certainty would come. It didn't. The ground fell away from under her. She had rolled onto the very edge of the station platform and one leg was now hanging in mid air, pulling at the rest of her, twisting her back. The pain exploded anew as her spine turned and stretched. She scrambled and clawed at the floor in panic. She turned her upper body to get back on the platform, on the safe surface. It all happened in an instant and the surge of adrenalin and pure panic made her move. She got her leg away from the edge and rolled panting and groaning onto her stomach. Just as the momentum caused her head to drop down on the cold tile, something whistled in her ear and a sharp crack echoed in the large space. She felt a fresh stream of blood run down her face and she raised a hand to the wet warmth as she stared at the shattered tile just centimeters from her face. Her heart pounded as she pulled out a ceramic splinter from the soft flesh just below the right eye. She couldn't move. Paralyzed, chocked. Not understanding.

"Get the fuck up bitch!" 
Jenny Two watched the pathetic creature, the stuck up bitch, pull something out of her face. The forehead had swollen up and most of the face was already smeared in blood. Now there was fresh red stuff oozing out of a brand new hole in that pretty cock-sucking face. 
"Not so pretty anymore are you?” Two spoke with a calm that was long practiced but as false as water. The gun was steady in her hand. It had a perfect grip, it was made for her. Anyone who refused to listen would listen when this baby spoke. Matt black polymer grip. The weight of the gun was perfect for her small hand. She moved the barrel sideways, slowly, along the entire length of Jenny One. Blue eyes followed the movement, back and forth. Staring silently. She didn't move. 
"That's right Bitch. You didn't know I had one did you?" Two laughed.

She knew that gun. Through her own shallow breathing she could hear a keening sound, a hoarse whine. Someone shouted. Someone else spoke rapidly from some distance away. The voices mattered not. Not through the pitchy sound that seemed to flow out of the darkness of a barrel of a gun. The endless void that stared at her. Two screamed and the blackness trembled somewhat before it steadied itself into its cold stare. It glared at her. A small black circle in the control of a.... a what? Two sidestepped, waved the gun, stepped back into position. The entire front of her shirt was drenched in blood. The baseball cap had fallen off at some point and was not in sight. Two's hair was cut short in the neck and sides, left unruly and messy on top and dyed deep purple and black. She was fit. One could see that now. Perhaps she wouldn't have picked a fight if she had known this woman for what she had become. A fighter. A hateful pit-bull, with a gun. One smiled inwardly at her own stupidity. 

Then she was still. Calm and cold. Nothing but a dog, a bitch. Someone who should be put down for her own good and everyone else’s safety. 
She knew that gun. She remembered. The other woman wanted her to get up. She would get up. She spread her palms on the cold tile and pushed up. The dislocated disc in her lower back set every nerve on fire, broke every barrier of pain but she ignored it. 
She struggled to her feet. Slowly, she got up on her knees, watching the maniacs one-eyed murderer that stared at her, held her in check. Her hand slipped in a puddle of fresh blood and she screamed from the pain. She realized then, that she had been screaming all along. That keening had been her. She bit off the scream and made it up on her feet, forced into a hunching posture as her back didn't work. She took a steadying breath and stood up as straight as she could and moved her eyes from the gun to a set of blue eyes so like hers, so different from hers. So full of rage. So full of fear. Why was she afraid? She was the one with the gun after all. Jenny One felt something rise in her. As it rose, something else fell away. Decision. The end result. It was coming. She was coming. Finally. At long last, she found her voice. Calm although ragged.
"Kel-tek p36." She kept her eyes on the face watching her, noticed the eyes widen in surprise. It showed only for a moment, but it was there, the fear. She knew that what she had never admitted would finally be told. 
"Don't you remember?" Suddenly she smiled. It was a grim sight where only few patches of pale skin remained visible in a mask of glistening and drying blood. Two took an involuntary step back. . One stepped away from the edge. One step. Then another, towards the weapon and its mistress. The gun trembled again, the barrel lost its perfect aim but it was still point blank deadly. 
"You showed it to me that night. Don’t you remember?" Another step, another retreat.

Two didn't realize she was backing up to start with. She was too numb. She heard the words. That bitch was talking about that night. That night. Which night? Daddy. She shook her head. No, it was all a lie. The cunt came closer. Too close. She jerked her arm forward and pulled the trigger. But she was shaking. That night. Daddy didn't mean it. Fresh blood exploded out of a small hole in Ones left shoulder and she reeled back but didn't stop. The bullet had only penetrated the soft flesh on the outer edge of the shoulder and had done little damage. One gasped and looked down at the ragged hole in her fancy sweater. But she didn't fucking stop. Shouts were nearer now. Panicked, calming, desperate cursing. 
"Call the fucking cops you asshole!" Shrill shouts, frightened whispers.
"There's no fucking signal in here. Someone has to get someone. Don't they have security here? Why isn't anyone coming?"
"I'm not going past those fucking maniacs. Are you stupid? That's a real fucking gun!" The voices faded in and out. Faded totally.

Jenny One took another step while tearing her eyes from her ruined sweater. She didn't look at the gun now. She stared into Two's face and a look of mocking disbelief came over her. Her eyes widened and she raised one hand to point at her arm.
"You ruined my favorite sweater you bitch."  She pulled her upper lip back and showed her teeth.
"Now, why would you do that?" She tore her eyes from the other woman for a split second and closed her eyes. Just a blink. Just a moment when all became clear. And it was all so perfectly clear now. It had all been heading this way, moving relentlessly to this moment. Was always the way it would end and nothing could stop this. Not now.
 She listened. Heard something. Everything was pain. But physical pain. Physical pain didn't matter. The body didn't matter. Perfection and appeal didn't matter anymore. Perhaps it had never mattered, had only been a mask. She listened again. Yes, it was coming. She listened to Two's breathing. It was shallow, had an undertone of a moan, a whining, deep in her throat. The gun trembled.
"You said you would use that gun on your Daddy jenny, don't you remember? You would take it and use it for what he did to you." Jenny One faltered for a second as two gasped and took yet another step back.  One staggered, and it brought her closer. Closer to the gun that shook, steadied, exploded in a ringing echo among the screams of people watching in shock. Twos keening increased, louder, a pitiless whine totally out of her control, beyond stopping. A sound from deep within her chest, her body, her mind. 

She didn't stop. The cock-sucking liar kept coming.
"No!" She had missed again. What was wrong with her? What was wrong with her arm? She couldn't eep it still. She uttered a groan of pain, of frustration, of memories biting its way out of cage after cage of suppressed shame and fear and unconditional love. Unstoppable realization. Forgetfulness shattered. Unaware of her own keening. Not realizing that she could have pulled the trigger many times over by now. But she couldn't. Something was wrong with her hand. 

Jenny One listened, stepped forward, calculated.
"But you never did anything to your daddy did you? You just let him fuck you didn't you? And then you let him fuck me you fucking cunt. I thought you were a friend. You let your daddy do...." She had no more voice. She couldn’t talk as something broke inside. She choked off the last words. She closed her eyes for a moment as she calmed her breathing. There was nothing more to say. Nothing more to do. She was lost. They were lost. The rumbling of the coming train increased, grew louder. She listened, waited. She had nothing more to say. 

Two's keening stopped, was replaced with a deafening silence. Even the kids were quiet. One watched the eyes change. She knew what it meant. Cold control had taken charge once more. Back to denial, back to forgetting what couldn't be forgotten. Yes. She was taking control again. There was not much time. She was getting ready. She had had enough. One kept her eyes on the eyes that narrowed, the mouth that suddenly grinned. She looked at her friend. The edge of the platform, the tracks. The gun stared at her, steady, moving upwards until it once more had a perfect aim. But the gun was pointing at her chest, not her head. One more step and she would have been able to reach out to touch the cold metal. But she didn't take another step. She wouldn't have to. She was close enough. Two tightened her grip, tensed the finger, squeezed. Kel-tec, no double action trigger, there was no more time.

Jenny One threw herself at her former friend, her former alter ego, her childhood confidant, the betrayer. The traitor. The hate, the resentments stored for all this time. As she threw her body, the trigger made its initial catch, the click that meant imminent firing. Two took another step back and squeezed, pulled, point blank. The momentum was too strong and although the bullet entered Jenny in the chest, it passed through just below the collar bone and only managed to turn the approaching body sideways somewhat. 

Then she was over her, arms wrapping themselves around her neck. Held her, pushed her backwards. She pulled the trigger. One's stomach acted as sound suppressant and muffled the fatal shot.  But they were already falling. The gun exploded again, killing what was already dead, but the momentum had already taken them both over the edge of the platform. They were falling. The gun fired one last time into One's soft ruined flesh, dying flesh.
 
One's dying gasps, the shots, Two's anguished scream of shocked realization, was all drowned out by the approaching train. In that endless second as they fell towards the tracks, everything was bottomless black grief. The final grief. Two's grief. The final moment. She hit the electrified track and her heart burned its last beat as she fried on the rails. The train bore down on them, two friends embracing one another for the last time. As the warning whistle roared and tons of steel bore down on them, they could no longer hear it.

JennyK stood at the very edge of the platform, looking down on the mutilated remains on the tracks below, partly concealed by the no longer moving train. Emergency medics, station staff and police officers surged around her, passed her, passed through her. They paid no attention to her. She was not really there. She was only the essence of the two recently dead below. Not quite there, not quite gone, but getting stronger. Her hands were loosely clasped in front of her. Shoulder length hair billowed slightly in a wind that was not there. She tilted her head to one side and smiled gently, dreamily shutting her eyes and sighed. It was a sigh as from a million ghosts. Ghosts of fluttering silken wings of memory where the edges had burned away. Dreams, wishes and released resentments. A collected gasp of absolute freedom sounded in the almost there. The place that was void but close, near but unreachable. 

An ambulance driver, fed up with waiting in the vehicle and now standing at the bottom of the stairs smoking a cigarette, paused as he moved his nicotine stained fingers to his lips. He shuddered and looked around. He was searching for something he didn't know existed, feeling it. 

A medical doctor, kneeling next to the blackened torso and head of Jenny Two, felt his grip on the useless stethoscope weaken and it dropped back on his white clad chest. His breath caught for a moment and he looked around, searching for something that must have disturbed him. 

Tad Peters, The teenager that was the only one in the group with a cell phone, a useless cell phone, jerked his head towards something, he didn't know what. Something had caught his attention. There was something there. At the very edge of the platform. But there was nothing there. He had watched them fall. He had taken a step, a useless step and then he had turned around. He had held his phone, staring blankly at the signal indicator that suddenly went from no bars to two, then three. In a moment, the signal had reached full power. 

. Something flowed through everyone present, although no one would know what had made their heart skip a beat, or what had caused the shiver, the sudden trembling, the sudden seizing of activity. For only a second as time for a moment forgot to move on, the essence of JennyK and her two derivatives came together in a blast of universal energy, fused, melded together, grew into something enormously more vast than the individual parts had ever been.

Time started, remembered its duty. JennyK, so much more than her fragmented selves could have ever imagined, turned and started walking away, moved slowly over the tiled floor and started up the stairs. For each step she became more real. Each second she became more flesh and blood. For each step she materialized, came together, atom by atom, cell by cell, she became clearer, more solid. At the bottom of the stairs she was only a strange refraction of the light for those who would have seen her. Half way up the stairs, a soft whisper of steps could have been detected if the location had been absolutely silent and she would have been seen by keen eyes if they knew where to look. At the top of the stairs, she reached out to touch the railing and she felt the cold metal against her skin. 

Someone did see her then. An old man, worn by a life of addiction, saw a ghostly shape solidifying, each moment becoming clearer. Faded watery eyes watched her colors sharpen for each breath and He raised a bottle to his mouth and drank greedily, getting some but far from all of the clear liquid down his throat. He blamed a life of alcohol for imagining flowing hair suddenly settle around the shoulders, taking on a shine and luster he suddenly and violently wished he could touch. He blamed the poison that was his life for imagining a ghost becoming real before him, skin losing translucency, clothing achieving texture, Shoes friction against floor suddenly creating real sound. 

The woman turned her head as she passed him. She stopped and regarded him for a moment, meeting his eyes with hers. The serene look on her face made him stop breathing for a moment, overwhelmed by all that was lost, all that was broken, all that could still be fixed. Hope surged through him when she smiled and put her palm against the side of his face. A warm, living hand. A soft vibrant touch. She looked at him for a long moment, just keeping her hand motionless against his sagging skin, herself not moving, not hearing, or not caring, about the noises around the two. People hurried about, some descending the stairs to the place of recent death, some standing in shocked silence or murmured conversation. 
She spoke then. Her voice was real, no ghost, no apparition. It was not much more than a whisper but he heard it clearly and he would never forget.
"It is never too late."


Afterword.

I call this story metaphorical pop psychology dealing with the many personas that fight one another in the human mind. We are not always what we think we are. We rarely tell the whole truth. We often have desires struggling with reason for power.   We are in denial more often than not about one thing or another. This story is extreme but is in frightening relation to mind body and soul of many for whom death seems to be the only release from their own internal prison.

People and events in this story are purely fictional although locations are real.   Hinseberg is a prison in Sweden. The Kel-tec is a Swedish brand of handgun.
J K Brennan April 2010 

Any feedback on this story would be so cool. E-Mail me.