Steppin' Dynamite

Someone looks a little too good to be true

"Steppin' Dynamite." The phrase rang in my head as I looked out the window, the glass fogged and streaked with the heat from the room. The party still laughed and tinkled with a few last merry drinks. I hated parties, but I needed to be there. The one person I ever truly hated was there: Cora. Miss Steppin' Dynamite herself.

My brother was the latest in her string of victims, and I hated her for him, for what she did to him, what she drove him to.

Her nickname was his invention, but she thought it fit her perfectly. My God, she promised so much to him. But she delivered nothing and took even more. She isolated him from his friends to own him, drove a wedge between him and family. She spent and spent until his fabulous credit crumbled into monstrous debt.

And then—she left one afternoon out of the blue. In the middle of a conversation, she casually said it wasn't working out, and that she thought it was better if she moved out. It turned out she already had moved out: her clothes, trinkets, everything she had been given or loaned—gone. Tony said she left without even a goodbye..

The last leaf from the tree of Tony's emotional stability fluttered away with her. Two weeks later, he bought a gun at a pawn shop. Now my brother's gone, too.

That bitch never even sent a condolence card.

I continued looking out the window. The party was winding down, and she was among the first to leave—no one left to con, I suppose. I straightened as she approached her car, waiting for the real show to begin.

As she started the car, I smiled with vengeance. In a few seconds, she'd be Miss Flyin' Dynamite!

(Word Count: 300)