by Lisa McCourt Hollar
Bethany always was a pain in the ass. The fact that she was my sister sure as hell didn't make my life any easier.
The zombies trying to turn us into steak tartare didn't help either. Bethany, being blond and brainless was a natural attraction to them. I think they sensed a kinship with her.
You ever watch a horror movie and see some dumb bitch running from the axe wielding murderer, all while wearing 3 inch heels? That's Bethany. Only she would pull out a tube of lipstick and smear it on her lips whilst running, all so she would look perfect for Prince Charming when he rescued her.
Turns out Prince Charming doesn't exist...at least not for Bethany. I always told her those pumps would do her in. We were running from one of the undead hoard that's been popping up all over Manhattan. Bethany twisted her ankle in some gore, left behind by one of the recently not so deceased. Fell and hit her head on the cement. Her feet, hanging over the side of the curb showed her tattoo as I ran by. Vivre Libre...live free.
Say what you want, but that is risible.
Word Count: 200
This story was my entry for Menage Monday, which can be found at Cara Michael's blog, Defiantly Literate. caramichaels.com/defiantlyliterate/2011/11/07/menagemonday-challenge-week-eight/