Page 86 of Ready Or Not

Sure, I may have been destined to be a heartless cunt since I was born (and don’t get me wrong, I fucking love it), but they took without asking. They took mychoice.

I tell myself I don’t care, gathering my Glock and some other items. I wouldn’t change who I am now, even if I had a choice.

But some tiny part of me wants to know what it would have been like to love and to be loved back, to feel something other than rage and emptiness.

I have no transportation here, but that’s fine. As I walk back toward the road, I have to stop to puke. I’m so full of memories, and I can’t get them out.

It’s not long before an old farmer drives by, and I pull my half-mask over my nose and steal his truck. He looks shocked to see a gun in a woman’s hands, let alone pointed at him.

Whoopsie. Misogyny is gonna cost you a Ram 1500.

As I drive toward my first target’s house, my body hums with energy. I almost puke again as forgotten images rush through my head, and I try to shove them out. But it doesn’t work. Eventually, the only thing that stops me from thinking aboutthem is Manson’s annoying, demanding voice saying I’m being reckless and I’m going to get caught.

As if. It’sme.I never get caught.

My first target lives near Noel’s old place. When I get to his house, a nice two-story red brick, I boot the door in. That action sucks a little bit of adrenaline back into my body. Immediately, a wash of cool air hits me, and I grin under my mask. Cool. I won’t sweat my nuts off while stabbing him to death.

“Honey, I’m hooome.” I saunter through the nice house. It smells like old people because, of course, it does. He would have aged twenty years since I last saw him.

Reckless. Be careful.

“Ready or not, here I come.”

I fire off a round, the sound exploding in my eardrums, removing Manson’s annoying voice. Maybe the old man will hear it and get good and scared for me.

I boot my way into the downstairs study, and suddenly, he is there. He’s scrambling to get the window open. He’s wearing an Oklahoma Sooners shirt and is fat with wispy white hair that doesn’t cover his baldness.

I grin as he whirls on me. He gasps, “The fuck?”

I smile. “Not my name. Terrible guess.”

“Get out of my house.” My target frantically tries to open the window while still looking at me.

“Hmmm.” I stop walking towards him and cock my head. “How about no?”

“Nancy!” the man screams.

“Well, that is definitely not my name.” I point my gun at his leg and fire a round. He buckles, screaming.

“Gonna guess again?”

The man clutches his knee, screaming.

I roll my eyes. “Nope.” I fire another round into his other leg.

I squat in front of him, watching in wonder as the wounds slowly get red with blood. Bullet wounds don’t look like they do in the movies, especially from a smaller caliber gun. The entry wound is small and easy to miss. It’s the exit wound that’ll perk the clit.

If Rachel was here, I could explain all of this to her.

Anger fills me as I think about her. She could have been here to see this with me, but she chose not to. I lean into the rage, letting it take hold of me. It’s much better than that empty numbness—the numbness lets the bad thoughts in.

“You remember me?” I sink down to the man’s level. He’s staring at his legs, eyes wide. He’s in shock, probably not even feeling it after the initial fright.

“Let’s play a game. You remember animal hide and seek?”

He turns his cloudy eyes up at me.

I grin. “You run and hide. I’ll chase. Then we’ll see what happens next, hmmm?”

---