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Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Drama · #1885983
Ruby, deals with preconceptions of class, emotion and a headache. (A contest entry)
Word count 1500 excluding title and notes
A contest entry for "Show, Don't Tell Contest OLD the August 2012 entry.
There are 15 elements or prompts they are "September 2012 Contest Scenario

scene picture of Ruby's Rage

Ruby's Rage

Ruby rubbed her temples then looked at her watch. For Christ's sake, it's only eleven-o-clock, still an hour to go.

"Ruby, did you hear me?"

"What...? Aww, Pete. What is it now? I'm trying to finish the sales report. I'm exhausted and my head's killing me."

"It's as dead as Michael Jackson around here; I need to cut out. I got an early exam tomorrow."

"What about the floors and the trash?"

"I already did the trash, and the floors aren't that bad."

"We are supposed to do the floors every night. I'll catch hell tomorrow."

"Shit--Ruby, nobody gives a rat's ass about 7-Eleven. Do you really think one night will make a difference?"

"Forget it... I'll do it. Make sure you lock everything up in back."

Ten minutes later Ruby let the mop plop out onto the floor and began pulling it back and forth. A car engine revved loudly demanding her attention. A new 2012 Range Rover pulled in and three young men in their mid-twenties baled out. she watched them head in, while listening to their banter. The windows rolled down and the thumping of the drums and upbeat electric guitars boomed out.

*Music1* No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problem.*Music2*
*Music2* Blues what blues...hey I forgot them ...*Music1*

Hum, No mistaking Kenny's Tennessee twang. just what I need before shit end a bunch of rednecks.

"Jake, you idiot, turn that horseshit down. Someone will call the damn cops."

"Oh sure, if his highness, the deputy mayor's son, wants to listen to something it's okay. But if..."

"Whatever man, it's your car; I'm not the one that's going to get the ticket."

The music stopped, and Jake hopped out heading for the door held open by the tallest of the bunch. Next to him, the skin one said, "Hey Tommy, how about some money, I bought the last twelve-pack."

"No, its Jake's turn." said Tommy pointing his thumb over his shoulder at the cowboy behind him.

"Hey, I'm the designated driver; I'm the one that is supposed to stay sober. Why should I pay for the beer, when I'm not supposed to drink it?"

"Hahahah ... it hasn't stopped you so far... ass-wipe." said skinny-boy

"Okay then, it's Simon's turn." Jake's brow scrunched skyward begging for his statement to be confirmed by one of the others.

Jake, Tommy and skinny boy all turned and looked at Simon, who chimed, "Sure, it's always the Jew boy's turn."

Ruby pulled the yellow sign off the side of the bucket and flipped it out. "Watch it guys, the floor is wet." They trudged right through the middle of where she had just mopped, leaving dirty footprints. "Excuse me, gentlemen. Please be careful, the floor is wet."

"We heard you, Mamacita. Don't get your panties in a bunch," said Jake. "I'll just have my maid come over. I 'm sure your mama won't mind a little overtime."

Ruby bit at her lip, pushed the mop bucket around the corner, and returned to the register. She focused on the loud mouth as he fumbled through the snacks. Five-foot-six, 135 pounds, blue-green eyes, with blond hair a foot past my shoulders ... where does he get off with Mamacita?

Jake moved beside Simon. The beer cans made a funny scraping sound as he pushed them aside to set his selections of snacks down.

"Could I see some ID please?" Ruby asked Simon.

Jake piped in, "Can I show you mine, Chiquita? You think I can get you to polish my banana?" Ruby ignored him, concentrating on Simon, and bagging the beer.

She turned to Jake, staring at her; his dark brown eyes bore right into her. The pressure built in her head--a steady throb pulsed, like someone beating a drum. She sensed malevolence in his eyes. He wants to hurt me. The hairs on her arms rose, and she saw the glint in his eye, as he noticed it too. She glanced at the others to see if they were all in this together. But they had already turned, heading for the door.

Wonder what Tasha will think when she finds me tied up, raped and dead in the cooler.

Tommy yelled back, "Come on Jake, you really think she's interested in some Malibu Hillbilly?"

Jake's glare never left Ruby. She saw her reflection in his eyes, and had trouble suppressing the images in her mind, of blood, and her naked body sprawled on the floor.

The front door jerked open, and the six-foot, two-hundred-forty pound, Tasha, plowed through. Their eyes locked and Ruby knew she understood.

Tasha yelled out, "Hey! Butt-head, you got some kinda problem?

Jake turned and looked at Tasha and the corners of his mouth rose, Holy shit, now there's an ass whooping.

"I think you best get your shit and hit da road." said Tasha as threw her purse across the room to the back counter, and put her hands on her hips. "I'll snatch you bald-headed moe'fucker. I really was not axing you no question. You best be getting along and I mean now!"

Tommy yelled out from the door. "Shit, Jake come on, she'll kick your ass and we're all going to laugh and watch."

As the SUV left, Tasha asked, "You look flustered, you all right there, sugar?"

"I don't know, Tasha, there was something menacing about that one." She walked around the counter. "I was seeing images of his hands around my throat, and my face turning purple. Will you ring these up for me? I am going home; I need something for my head, it's pounding."

"Girl, a Slim-Jim and a bottled water ain't no supper."

"It'll hold me til I get home."


Ruby made it all the way to the street corner before her nerves flared again. She scanned the shadows. Then he bolted out in a single bound. The trashcan he was hiding behind toppled over and rolled towards her feet. Time seemed to freeze as each took in the sight of the other.

"Hello boy." Ruby looked down at the jerky in her hand then at the ribs showing below his scruffy fur. A slight wagging began in his tail. Ruby held out the jerky. "Here, you need this more than me." The Sheppard mix eased forward, with a quick grab, he took the treat, and backed away. He chewed on the morsel with some vigor, though he never took his eyes off Ruby.

From the next corner squeals of rubber on pavement pierced the night. The roar of the V-eight startled the dog and he jumped away from Ruby into the middle of the street. The car accelerated.

Ruby focused on the car again, the driver was looking right at her. Oh shit, he's gonna hit him! . She couldn't stop herself. It all played out in slow motion. Her hand gripped the handle of the can. It flew like a rocket into the street a few yards in front of the SUV. Brakes squealed, smoke boiled off the tires, then it bounced up to meet the right headlight.

The driver baled out, his face ablaze with fury. "You fucking bitch!"

Ruby turned and started back toward the store.

"Oh no you don't ... bitch!" Jake's hand caught the back of Ruby's work tunic. She turned, pushed her arms over her head, and then squatted, letting the tunic slip over her head. Jake stopped for only half a second before he threw her blouse down. Then he charged Ruby. She faded to her left, spun, and let her right leg sweep around in a wide circle. Her heel caught Jake on the chin.

Blood shot off in the opposite direction and he staggered. When Ruby's foot touched the ground, she sprang forward, punching Jake in the throat twice. She shifted her weight and let loose her Taka-geri; it was her best high front kick ever. It hit Jake squarely in the chest, leaving him weaving back and forth like a cartoon character. Ruby didn't stop; she slid to the side, Hane-goshi, the canon toss. She flipped him over her hip, sending him flying straight for the light pole.

Ruby somersaulted backwards, in the opposite direction, moving to the middle of the street. Focusing on the other men, she posed in a classic marshal arts stance.

Simon yelled, "Goddamn; I told you it was her. Do you believe me now? Ruby Rousey, the 2011 MMA featherweight Champion, six-time US National Judo champion, and Olympic Bronze medalist."

The others just stood there, mouths agape. Jake sat slumped against the light pole. Blood ran down his face, his eyes pointed skyward, unseeing. Tommy slowly moved forward, his every muscle followed by Ruby's gaze. Picking up the uniform blouse, he held it out at arms length.

"Sorry, we tried to get him to stop, but he's crazy when he drinks too much. Are you really Ruby Rousey?"

Ruby stretched out and took the blouse. "Actually, I'm Ronda Rousey, only my close friends call me Ruby. What's it going to be boys? I got a headache. Do you want some of me too? Do we call the cops, or what?"

"If it's all the same to you, Ms. Rousey, we will just get Jake and be on our way."

Ruby bent down picked up the Slim-Jim she had dropped and let out a soft come-hither whistle. Her new black and tan friend fell in beside her and she handed him the meat stick. She started down the street, then stopped and turned. "Hey, when Jake comes to, ask him if I put enough polish on his banana." The twitter that escaped her belly seemed to do more to relieve her migraine than a dozen Advil.

© Copyright 2012 Life's a Beach... says Joey C (iamjoeyc at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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