1000 Thread Count Sheets

Goldilocks slipped silently into the house.  Dumb shits had left the door unlocked when they went for a walk.  She walked into the dining room.  Who the hell goes for a walk between setting food on the table and eating it?  Ever hear of blowing on your food?  What if there’s a fly in the house?  “Here, fly, shit in my soup as much as you want while I go for a walk and it gets too cool to eat.”  No wonder Emilio wanted them dead–he was more embarrassed at having set them up to be his distributors in that part of Idaho than he was mad about “Papa Bear” always shorting him on the meth payments.

God, she was weary–it wasn’t just the damn sinus infection, it was 17 years of being a hitwoman, first freelance, then on retainer to those Mexican pricks that was wearing her down.  She was wary of signing on with them, but she knew she could watch her beautiful back as much as they liked to watch it, and she liked their unbridled nastiness.  She was an equal that way to Emilio and they both knew it.  As long as she carried out her work, he left her alone, and she ALWAYS worked alone.  She’d never failed him.

She looked down at the bowls of crap on their table–“Probably roadkill”, she thought out loud.  She stuck a blood-red fingernail into the huge bowl, big enough to stir up a batch of cookies in, that must have been Papa Bear’s.  “Not all that bad, but it could use a little spice.”  She pulled a small bottle from her leather jacket and sprinkled about half of it into the bowl.  “That oughta knock old Lardass out.”  She went to the next bowl, most likely “Mama Bear’s”, because it was pretty big too, but not as big as Dumbass’s.  She sprinkled about two-thirds of the remainder into that bowl, then dumped the rest into the regular soup bowl that must have been belonged to “Junior Dumbass”.  She’d sneak out of the house, sit in the woods for a while, then come in and finish ’em off while they slept.

In the meantime, she might as well check out the house; after all, it would be on the market soon, and she was looking for a vacation home.  It was pretty around there.  She walked past their three chairs, all lined up in a row in front of the big screen.  She wasn’t about to sit in them–the place looked clean enough, but you never know.

She climbed the ladder to the sleeping loft.  What the hell?  It was just one big open room, with 3 beds in it.  They did look remarkably clean and well-made; it even smelled clean.  She laid down on the small one–too soft.  She laid down on the giant one, too hard.  She pulled her pistol out of one pocket and silencer out of another, screwed them together and laid the gun on fatass’s pillow.  Then she laid down on the middle one.  Wow, this was comfy.  Idly, she felt the pillowcase–were those 1000 thread count sheets?  “Looks like Mama Bear knows how to live the good life.”

She was sooooo tired–the morons would go straight to their soup, then pass out at the table and be out for hours, so a little catnap wouldn’t hurt her.  She undressed, slipped between the elegant sheets, and fell fast asleep.

The Lard family came back from their stroll a few minutes later.  Just before they got to the dining room, Papa and Mama suddenly looked at each other.  Was it a smell? or a feeling?  It didn’t matter what it was, but something was terribly wrong.  They started looking around the house, when suddenly they heard a whisper from Junior, who had climbed up to the sleeping loft to get his I-pod so he didn’t have to listen to the Twin Bores talk about the weather while they fed their fat faces.

Junior waved them upstairs; they both went up and saw Goldilocks lying there, with the gun in the next bed.  “That damn Emilio”, thought Papa Bear as he picked up the gun.  He looked at the long, golden hair, the curve of her shapely body under “Old Lumpy”‘s sheets, and said “What a waste” as he aimed at her head and pulled the trigger.

“You dumb shit”, cried out Mama Bear, “you could have just as well woke her up and marched her outside to do that.”  As she grabbed one end of the bedding, she signaled to him to grab the other end so they could haul her outside.  “Junior, gather up some wood and start a fire in the fire ring out back.”  As Junior ran off to get the fire going, she growled to Papa, “I hope you’re gonna like being sober for the next month–your beer money is going for some new sheets for me.  Dumbass.”


(For Trifecta’s Trifextra weekend thing–retell Goldilocks and the 3 Bears–no word limit this time!  I like sweet fairy tales.)

This entry was posted in Fiction, Humor, Writing and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

28 Responses to 1000 Thread Count Sheets

  1. Libby says:

    Sleeping on the job. That’s what happens.

    This was a good interpretation! Meth dealers! Of course, Mother Goose or the Brothers Grimm or whomever is spinning in his, her, or their grave(s). Lol!!

  2. savorthefolly says:

    disturbing. compelling. funny.

  3. barbara says:

    the CSI junkie in me wonders why in the world she put the gun in one bed while sleeping in the other. Sigh! Where would law enforcement (and criminals) be without dumb(er) criminals? 🙂

    • The pressure on her head from the sinus infection and the fatigue from her body’s immune system fighting it made her slow and stupid. Also, I was originally going to have her line up her “killing methods” on their beds: pillow for baby bear, knife for momma, gun for papa, admire her choices for a minute, then pick up the weapons (not the pillow) and go outside to wait. I get lazy sometimes.

  4. savorthefolly says:

    I must admit, as someone who has a blonde haired women in a position to interfere with some of my dreams, I enjoy the image of her being removed from the plot line. *look of sinister pleasure*

    yes….I know….very very dark.

  5. k~ says:

    Fantastic write. I would love to see you develop the character further, it’s a very good one… right down to the long red nails.

    • Some people (not just women, but women more so than most men) can describe what someone is wearing, along with accessories, from head to toe, and sometimes make it interesting enough that I can even picture it. Not me, though; I have little fashion sense, so it’s a bit of a struggle to describe what a person is wearing or whatnot. Therefore, little details like the long red nails, or anything I would find sexy or attractive, are what I have to fall back on. Which is a long way of saying thanks, I’m glad you liked it.

      • k~ says:

        I appreciate the additional information. To know that the part you struggle with was something that I found interesting says that when you do it, you do it well. Do you keep character sheets? They can really help you to flesh out a character that you only have minimal contact with, and they are good for fine details of those you are completely comfortable with.

  6. “Who the hell goes for a walk between setting food on the table and eating it?” LOVE! Honestly, I felt this way even as a five-year-old.

  7. Brilliant re-telling! Love it. Also like Roald Dahl’s retelling of the 3 Little Pigs, kinda similar.

  8. Jester Queen says:

    Oops. Goldilocks, Goldilocks. Shoulda known better than to give into the sheets. Never even woke up. The question now becomes whether they try to eat their porridge and pass out anyway.

    • I’m thinking the empty sleeping-powder bottle falls out of her jacket and Papa figures it out. Thanks, JQ, I kinda missed my own cue when responding to Barbara’s question about leaving the gun just laying around–the combo of the sinus infection and the irresistible sheets did her in.

  9. Brilliant response. There’s loads to love in this one. I really like your central character. She’s pretty smart…up to a point. Leaving the gun on the bed and faling asleep? Not such a good move. And I agree with you and ODNT — if you don’t want someone to eat your porridge, sit in your armchair or sleep in your bed, lock the freaking door. It’s simple. Thanks for linking up again.

    • Thanks, Trifecta. It was the sheets that did her in. She never could resist silky sheets. She stayed in relationships with the wrong men before just because they had silky sheets.

      • savorthefolly says:

        Okay, that paragraph above is so DAMN awesome. That almost sounds like the opening few sentences of a book. I read that and I am so ready to read the next sentence. I don’t want it to stop. I want to learn everything there is to know about this woman and her lovers.

  10. I completely agree about the soft sheets. That’s really all that matters at the end of the day, right? Teee heeee.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s