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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Contest Entry · #2190658
This is a story about a woman named Deliah and her four friends.
Just then, Deliah came running out of the military compound at top speed. She was running for herself, her freedom, her very existence and life. She knew they were behind her, just inching their way closer, and closer. She could see no one in their wake, but they were there.

So she had to go...faster. Faster. No heart could take this strain under which she was put. She left like a rocket, lighting. Kaput! As she continued to race from her strife, she remembered, My family, my life. At the end of the lane, she saw it, her Suzuki Sidekick.

Without hesitation, she climbed in, hands free for whatever was in need. She revved up the engine. It went through on the first put.

"Suzuki's alright in my book," she said, as she sped away.

It was the middle of day, and she could've been fooled. She rammed down the road. Her suspension, spooled.

"What will I do?" said she. "Will I get through to the street?"

Just then, a military Humvee pulled up, blocking the road. It was green and ugly, like a giant toad. She should've been told, or allowed to rehearse. The was nothing to do now, but to go in reverse.

"My life for a hearst," she said without stammering.

The Suzuki was sly. It's breaks were not jammering.

She turned it around. But to her dismay, another green Humvee ruined her day. It stayed in the lane, with authority and pluck. In even her pain, she was a sitting duck. And atop this great Humvee, in a nest of steel, was a Tow Missile carrier that turned on a wheel.

"We've got you, Lucille!" said the sound on the megaphone.

"My name's Deliah," she said, as she knew she wasn't going home.

The soldiers pulled her out, and then they cuffed her. She could've resisted, but then they would have roughed her. Duffed her. She squinted, to see the soldier's face. But it was covered in war paint, his expression a feint.

"I want a lawyer!"

"Oh no you ain't!"

The soldiers brought her to the waiting Humvee, (the one without the rocket launcher that looked like a tree). And as they contemplated the recipe for their newly-captured fawn, they returned to the Humvee to find that she was gone.

Not a trace.

"In you face!"

A week later, in Yonkers, Deliah resurfaced. She felt she was bonkers. It showed on her face. At the cemetery by day, her hands in her pockets. This was no place to play, or tinker with a sprocket. She took out a poem, it rhymed for luck. She named it for them: the title, Reiducks.

"Oh, how could I be so especially blind," said Deliah. "Now, I am sorely in a bind."

She left the poem and then left the cemetery. Her friends were going and she had to be wary.

"Wherever I go, I need some more bucks," she said to herself, as she drove a Lexus.

A week later, she went to Madison Square Garden, where her friend Joana was fighting Tasha Harlins.

"Get in there and rip her up," Delia had said.

Joana so far ahead, she was going to bed.

Deliah cheered, even though she feared, a comeback. Five pancakes for the winner, and that's only one stack. Joana was deft, her firsts were on fire. Deliah never left. Her interest was sired. Harlins attempted to win with a sweep, but it seemed as if rubber were stuck to her feet.

"What is this 'bleep'?" said Deliah with care.

With a rear naked the fight was over.

"Now there!"

Deliah then went to Amanda's house. Of course, that was after The Panda's bout. What she found out, was only to be expected. It wouldn't amount to a hill to be inspected. Amanda projected vitality, reality. She rejected senseless triviality. Her body was firm, her eyes instructive. Deliah was sure, though she played detective.

"Whatever happened to your favorite cat?" said Deliah.

"What you mean that? On the picture in back?" said Amanda.

"I want you to tell me your favorite things," said Deliah.

"To have friends not living on government stings," said Amanda.

Oh, such things.

Deliah left their , on her way to the 'port. But she thought she'd drop by on her friend, Jolene Port.

Jolene Port, a Hollywood Star, had her star on the walk of fame, next to Phil Lamarr. She was incredibly lucky, but twice as plucky. She never left the side of her cute rubber ducky. It was in her purse, which she carried with fame. If she couldn't make it with Ducky, there would be no one to blame. Not that she needed to blame. It was all one and the same.

"Jolene Port," said Deliah with sense.

"What is your report," said Jolene in defense.

"I have no report, just checking on a friend."

And with that retort, she knew their friendship would never end.

"Jolene, I must ask. What is your best role," said Deliah.

"They're all my best," said Jolene. "But especially Kim Coles."

They talked through the night, but Deliah was pressed. "I'm going to Lucille, I must confess."

"Lucille is dead," said Jolene. "You will be too, unless you keep your nose clean."

"I know she's dead, but she doesn't have to be." said Deliah, as if talking through a screen.

"I don't mean to be mean," said Jolene. "But where do you think she is?"

"I don't mean to demean," said Deliah, "But that's only my business."

"Best of luck to you, my friend."

"If you have faith in me, it will never end."

Deliah then left, her perpetual friends. Lucille was calling, and she wouldn't bend. She would bend until the end. Nothing could take her wind. She was going to find Lucille, and win.

"I've got to get on the next plane to England. I wish their were a train," she said.

Then she realized that she wasn't even ready yet.
© Copyright 2019 John Andrew Jenkins (johnjenkins at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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