Was what I had seen was a dream or was it? Being a female journalist in the sixities, wanting to do a story, that is not a puff piece, is impossible. What she saw.
.”I want a story, blood and guts a story! Not a fluff piece! A story, I tell you. A story! ”she screamed, tears running out of her eyes to ruin her make up, she looked pretty when she was not upset, now was not one of those times. She grit her teeth, crossed her arms under her ample breast, looked at him as the rage tore through her veins.
“Well, I gave you, a story! What are you going to do, burn your bra!” Paul declared and handed her a book of matches with which to do the deed. Her editor Paul who was a hard hitting newspaper man gave her a story to do. When she looked it over knew it was going to be an absolute waste of her time. Paul had the Trib under his belt, he despised the feminist movement, tomorrow. They will want my job.
When she looked over the story Paul gave her, she shrugged her shoulders rising a fist into the air in a defiant fashion saying “It was not what I wanted, I wanted to be a journalist. Damn it! A journalist, Not some candy ass journalist, I tell you in a male dominated world. Please forget that I am a female. I am journalist first. A j o u r n a l i s t, hear me roar!“
. He warned, “I knew, that you could not do the story. I assigned you. There is no way you will become a journalist. Gloria Steinem be damned. You know, I tried to talk your father out of you becoming a journalist, but he would not listen. If you do not want to draft this story! I quit.”
Knowing what she knew; “she would receive the top journalist award for this story. The pictures were all the proof; I needed to catapult me there. This I knew. I would not listen to his tirade. Damn him!”
She smiled confidently and put the pictures that have for my story on John’s desk; had lit a cigarette. Drew in a lung full of smoke and exhaled a smoke ring.
Paul’s huge grin turns into a fierce frown as he peers at the shots. His heighten emotion turned from “thank you for the privilege of working for my press, too. What have you done? This is not the story! I gave you. “
A huge Cheshire cat’s grin appeared as if she had won the war for feminism having nothing to lose upon showing him the pictures. That were on her camera.
Just having gotten to bed. Having said her prayers. Fallen asleep. When a scream ripped through her unconsciousness having hurled her to be wide awake.
She raced to the window where the sound had come. Drew up the camera that she always had with her, but she never thought she would have to use it, brought the sight up to see through it to see what was there, looking about for what had made this sound.
The scream must have been heard by everyone. The sound was unimaginable; a chill slithered down her spine it was as if someone was slain ever so slowly and violently. The fear latched onto her . She looked about seeing no lights in other houses there being on.
Thinking they must have heard this.
She peered through three story window; after having parted the lace curtain to see beyond the knee high barrier of the parking lot, where the woman's scream came in form; into the woods; my eyes saw within wisp’s of a mist in the night air, and the dense wood. She saw a shadowy figure in the direction of the sound and grew afraid , when she looked at it. Clicked the shutter. Again and again. Watching the film move forward with each click. Smiling to herself, got the story. “Paul, let us see you; tell me I don’t!”
Through the eye piece she saw something, that she cannot rightly describe. However she will try her best too. This shadowy being that twelve feet tall, walking on six insectoid legs, with four human arms and its head was an insect’s with a woman's large bosom bottom of an insect’s abdomine. Held a woman’s body in its hands. Or was it, she did not know for sure. She swore that is what She saw there and She would swear to this on a stack of bibles as tall as me.
She drew up the camera to take some pictures of the form. She knew, she took the shots of it.' This would put my name in the headlines. I have them. These shots will put me on the front page. Paul can forget about his story, this is the one I want. '
Raced to check the lock in my door, found it was engaged checked to see if the window was sealed it was. She smiled relieved, upon finding this. Slipping back into the bed.
Wishing James had been here, with her to be held in his strong and massive arms to comfort her to get back to sleep, but he still was in city. Damn Paul for this story. I have to get up in the morning, get on the story Paul gave me.
She woke up the next morning with the scream still vibrating in my ears and the scenes were etched and chisel there, in my mind. She knew had to go get this story. She did not want breakfast to eat, as this story was more important. She decided She did not even want coffee, what was my dad had as breakfast. The sunlight tearing through the cobwebs that were her mind. Her head hurt as though she had been drunk the night before. She wished she had not drank as much as she had. Looking at the bottle of whiskey with a cigarette butt in it strewn about the floor.