The Girls

Introductions

Rochelle:  

 

     She wasn't sure, but she thought she heard the sound of footsteps behind her. Quick, composed footsteps that sounded nothing like the familiar tap of highheels. It didn't sound like a sharp click and an answering echo; it was more or less the dull thud of a male's faded dress shoes. Denise silently slipped her hand down to the secret pocket in the waist band of her skirt. She felt around until her fingers tightned around her lipstick tube. At least if he notices it, he'll think it's harmless, she thought to herself. In the ghettos of the city, any girl like her had a lipstick tube: if you took the top off, it revealed a razor-sharp blade that could cut any enterprising person into pieces. Her pace increased as she heard a voice behind her.

     "Hey, watch it, man!" Was that a female? Denise asked herself. She listened again.

     "Sorry," was the responding grunt. Must have been a homeless person. Denise refocused her attention and kept moving.

 

 

Denise:

 

     Poverty was nothing new to Denise. She was always bounced between boarding homes, shelters, and a pallette on the sidewalk. This month she happened to be in the street. It wasn't that bad; the weather had been favorable this month. Her only problem was drifting off to sleep. Living as she had for as long as she had, she eventually developed a case of paranoia. It wasn't like she was always looking over her shoulder or talking to herself like the common homeless stereotype seemed to be; she just had keener senses now that had her watching and listening to everything. And speaking of listening, her body tensed as she heard some sort of footsteps coming her way.

 

   Click...echo...click...echo...click...echo. There was a slight pause, then: click echo click echo click echo click echo. Had they sped up? It sounded like heels....

 

    Denise pressed herself against the wall she was laying near and tried to blend in with the shadows as the owner of the heels made her way past. She was tall, even without her shoes. Her hair was a platinum blonde with brown streaks running through it. She was obviously a hooker, dressed in an outfit fit only for the streets of Vegas. Wait a minute... thought Denise. Looking more intently, Denise realized that this woman looked scared. She had a tense set to her shoulders, and she was walking too fast for a hooker in this part of the city. Denise tensed again when she saw a glint of metal in the woman's hand but relaxed when she realized what it was: Lipstick tube. Hm, at least this one is smart.

     She was so intent on watching this woman pass that she didn't realize that she lost focus of everything around her; this mistake was quickly remedied when someone practically stepped on her.

    "Hey, watch it, man!" Denise yelled.

    "Sorry," was the responding grunt. He looked distracted.

    Yeah, sorry my a*s. Watch where you're going next time, Denise thought as he went on his way. She never would have spoken that out loud, though, as she might have done at once; the puckred scar just between her heart and stomach taught her not to do that. The thought of her scar jarred her senses. It wasn't her imagination; she sensed danger. Pure, raw, danger. And it was coming from the man who just tripped over her. Now that she thought about it, she was well against the wall, deep in the shadows trying not to be seen. The only way he would've tripped on her was if he was trying not to be seen, too.

 

Allison:

 

    Detective Allison O'Conner was horribly tired of working undercover. The long, straining hours, the constant threat of danger, and the even more constant question "Hey, you lookin' for a little somethin', sweetheart?" were beginning to make her wish she had a quiet desk job. Her flaming red hair and dazzling green eyes that were as prominent as her scattered freckles pratically screamed of her pure Irish roots. She wished she could get contacts or maybe dye her hair, but this job called for her heritage to work in her favor. Dressing like a stripper every night for a fellow Irish man at the club she now worked was not her idea of a great time. But again, it was prudent. This Irish man sells drugs to little kids, and she needs to get on his good side to catch him in the act. But all of this is irrelevant now. She's officially off for the night, and she is now making her way home.

     Maybe she was a little more tired than she thought, because instead of being at her usual state of alertness, her mind was wandering; thinking of how nice it would be if she could crack this case. So she was startled when she heard an echoed cry of "Hey, watch it, man!" She didn't really think much of it though, because cries like that weren't all that uncommon in this part of the city. She let her mind wander again, unaware of the chill of danger making it's way up her spine.....

   

Reviews

[Different Wings]

wow, very cool! just the other day, i was thinking about how cool it would be to make a story in which everything is situated around one event or one person, and each chapter is a new person's perspective involved in that event. my one suggestion is to make everything a bit longer, so that it's even more captivating and ominous. is there a second part to this?

[Ray Frontera]

Interesting & well-written start. Question: in "Rochelle's" section you attribute thoughts & actions to "Denise". Do you mean Rochelle?

[Satellite Heart]

wow. Great descriptive qualities. keep writing and adding on to this.