“Crap!” Tabatha shouted as the alarm clock screamed into her ear. The shrill ringing blasting her eardrums, she smacked the snooze button, shattering the glass front. She yelped in pain and looked down to see that there were several slivers of glass in between her knuckles, each starting to reflect the red blood that had begun welling up around them. She hurried to the bathroom and found the tweezers in the first-aid box she kept in the medicine cabinet behind the mirror.

With a horrible display of dexterity, she fumbled the tweezers in her fingers attempting to get the glass out. Once or twice she accidentally drove it further in.

Eventually, she got all the little shards out. The rest of the morning was shot though, as she still had to shower, dress, and eat before she left for work.

She hopped into the shower and held her bloody hand under the shower head. The constant downpour of water drumming and the open, still-bleeding wounds stung exquisitely. She grabbed the bar of soap from the little bar on the side of the shower wall and began to thoroughly scrub the cuts. It stung even worse than the water, but she knew it was the only way to make sure her hand didn't get infected.

Sighing, she stepped out of the shower and searched in the cabinet for some gauze. She found it and began to wrap it all over her hand. The gauze started to turn red not more than a few seconds after she put it on, so she wrapped two more layers over it. The red still came through a little, not that she really cared. If she ever cared about how her hands looked, she might have done her nails that morning. Not that it would help much.

Her fingernails were yellow and had a very musty smell about them. The edges were cracked, and the nails were lined with deep ridges. Evidence of her smoking days. She never could quite get rid of the must smell of her apartment after she quit, although it would have cost more than she could afford to have the place fumigated.

She brushed her teeth slowly, resenting her earlier actions. Holding the toothbrush hurt her hand immensely, and every stroke made her knuckles ache. She spit and rinsed, spit again, and then headed back to her room. She searched her closet for something nice to wear, because her boss would be on her case all day if she didn't.

She found a striped button shirt and clean pants and put them on. She even found a tie to annoy her boss. But all the use of her hand made it hurt even worse. She needed a pain killer. She needed her Mind Bomb.

Tabatha had been a very heavy drinker at one time, and the Mind Bombs were the good product of it. Every hangover she ever had could be instantly vanquished by one of them. All she had to do was mix water with the powder and drink it.

So, Tabatha rifled through kitchen cabinet, finding a small Ziploc bag containing the magical dust. It consisted of two Aspirin, an Excedrin, half of a Tylenol, and six coffee beans, all ground and preserved in their plastic guardians.

“Shit,” she said realizing that the blinds were up. She walked across the room to look out the window, then slammed the blinds shut at what she saw. MJ, the most perverted ass Tabs had ever met, was staring at her wide-eyed and grinning like a lion. She growled at herself for being too tired to shut the blinds last night, effectively offering MJ a view of her in the morning. Thank God she was wearing clothes.

Tabatha walked to the front door and reached into her pants pocket. No car keys. She cursed again and started turning up all the furniture. She searched drawers, shelves, couch pillows, anything that could hold the key to her transportation. Finally, she looked in her coat pocket; there they were.

Seeing the time on the stove clock, she cursed again and flung open the door. Of course, MJ was standing at the doorstep, grinning his idiotic grin and winking at her. She punched him right in the face. Tabs was so hurried to get to her car that she did not have time to savor the utterly surprised look on MJ's face and the rewarding sound of his head hitting concrete.

She unlocked the car and put the keys in the ignition. As she began to pull out of the driveway, MJ began to stand up and rub his temples. He smiled at her, the same smile as before only much less toothy this time. As she started off down the street, she rolled down the window just enough to stick her hand out and give him the finger.

She rolled the window back up and flicked on her favorite radio station. Another One Bites the Dust came on and Tabatha had an enjoyable thought of MJ being shot to death by a machine gun, the rat-a-tat-tat ringing joyously in her ears.


When she arrived at the building of her employment the parking lot was full. Mr. Liaser, the building's proprietor, was too cheap to construct a multilevel parking lot for his employees. Tabs ended up parking three blocks away at a tavern called The Pot O' Gold.

She was inside the building five minutes later and just about to punch in when Frankenbitch walked up to her.

“Agatha!” she said, her words given shape by the spit flying from her mouth. “You are late!” Her uvula bounced revoltingly, up and down, up and down...

“It's Tabatha,” the younger woman corrected, still staring at her boss's disgusting bodily features, “and I was only two seconds late.”

“Whatever, Tasha. Get to work.” Tabatha didn't bother to correct the mistaken woman. She was too busy anyway, as she had to finish three projects by the end of the day. She rushed down the hall to the computer, accidentally bumping into an old woman she had never seen before.

“Watch it, bitch!” The old woman said, the scent of alcohol hanging heavily on her. Tabs stepped aside and let the old woman pass.

Tabatha picked up the pass again and half-sprinted to her cubicle. Suddenly, Frankenbitch stepped right in front of her. “Miss Tartly! How dare you hurt an old lady like that! And then to use such language around someone of such an elderly status! You're fired!”

Tabatha left the building with mixed feelings, upset at losing her job but feeling triumphant that she had left with half of Frankenbitch's hair. She knew things were going to get a whole lot worse; MJ had begun stalking her, her apartment was a mess, and she no longer had a job. She sulked all the way to her car. Could things get any worse?

Of course they could! As if in answer to her question, the back windshield of her car was broken. Now she was going to drive home cold. Why couldn't this have happened in June instead of February?


Pulling into her driveway, Tabatha noticed something unusual about her apartment complex; one of the windows on her first floor apartment was open. She was sure that, after the little 'escapade' with MJ this morning, she had closed them all. She got out of the car and locked it by cay so as not to make any noise. Walking around the side of the building, she realized that it was her bedroom window.

She vaulted through the window, startling MJ, who, at the moment, was running his hands through Tabatha's clothing drawers. Invariably pissing her off, he smiled again.

Mrs. Chin's head shot up as she heard the tinkling sound of glass being broken. She leaned her head out her own window and saw MJ lying on the ground, his arms cut up by the jagged pieces of the window pane. She chuckled quietly and decided that, while she may be annoying as hell, Tabatha wasn't stupid.

Mrs. Chin was about to close her window when she heard another sound; a muffled sob, and it did not belong to the young man who was currently crying and running back towards his own apartment building.

The End

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