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This can henceforth be considered THE GREATEST SHORT STORY EVER MADE, for the following reason(s):

1.) It placed first in THE GREATEST CONTEST EVER MADE.
2.) 'Cause I said







“Put the money in the ******** bag before I blow the ******** out of you.” Shots rang out and a fine rain of slivers from the security mirror sprinkled the floor under the unforgiving glare of the fluorescent lights.

The morning light that filtered in from the window was nicotine-stained. Black spots of old gum glinted on the threadbare carpet, and the furniture was scarred with coffee marks. She lay on the bed, the yellow candlewick cover kicked to the bottom. Long limbs stretched in half-sleep and body splayed in unconscious abandon. Her red hair was mussed on the pillow and yesterday’s mascara was war paint on a frowning face. Cheap pink nylon strained to cover blooming nipples and failed to hide evidence that the flaming hair came out of a bottle. Before opening her eyes, she reached over to the bedside table and shook a cigarette out of the packet. A flick of a lighter and a sound like a kiss as she took her first inhale of the day. Only then she opened her eyes, turquoise and bleary.

The clock-radio blared, cutting through the morning silence and causing her to jump. She attacked it with the flat of her hand until the noise stopped. A contented sigh as she lay back on the bed. She stretched her toes south and arched her back before falling limp and taking another drag, spewing blue smoke into the atmosphere. She crushed it in the tin foil ashtray next to the clock-radio when she had finished.

“Jesus, it’s too early for this.” Sandy sighed as she opened up the shutters. The clatter as they rolled to the top seemed too loud in the bright early morning light. “I must be stupid, agreeing to do this shift.” She turned the key in the lock and ducked in to turn off the alarm. The lights buzzed as they illuminated the store with yellow light. Sandy rubbed her sore brown eyes as she removed her coat and took her position behind the counter.

“Well Betsy, I suppose it’s about time I got my a** out of bed, eh? We’ve got a busy day ahead of us.” She sat up and swung her legs over the bed, yawning and extending her arms above her head. It was only a few steps to the bathroom. Every morning she scrutinised the face in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. She checked the whites of her eyes and admired the startle of her irises, despaired at the burgeoning lines around the corners of her eyes and at the sides of her mouth. The continuing fullness of her lips was a source of comfort. Her teeth looked at last and were judged still good as she spat in the sink. “Mama’s still got it Betsy, Mama’s still got it.” She gave an over-exaggerated pout and a wink to the mirror and chuckled to herself as she turned on the shower. The pink nylon was a puddle of the floor and the jets of steaming hot water hissed. Silver streams over brown torso and slick thighs as she sang an old country song. Her form suggested softness, soft in the curve of her breast and roundness of her hip. Yet there was an undeniable athleticism in the glimpse of ribs under skin, her legs taut as she dragged the razor along her foam-covered calves. She rubbed her back as she straightened, and breathed in the scent of the cherry shampoo straight from the bottle before squirting a little into her lithe hand. Her hair was a comical pink when lathered, bright as candy floss. She continued singing as she rinsed her locks clear, using the bubbles to clean the inky streaks of mascara from her eyes. “Are you alright in there sweetheart? I’ll be in, in a minute.”

“Are you ******** deaf? Put the money in the bag. My next shot won’t be in the air. Do you understand what I’m ******** saying?” Wide brown eyes didn’t leave the pistol. The register was opened and shaking hands poured money into the crumpled brown paper bag. “Come on, I haven’t got all ******** day.” Cold metal nestled on a sweating temple.

She reached through the steam with her eyes shut, grasping for the towel on the rail. After a few tries she got it and wrapped it, turban-like, around her red hair. She stepped out, leaving dark footprints on the faded blue rug, and wrapped a larger towel around her body.

The morning customers were always so predictable: caffeine, cigarettes and a newspaper. It was still too early for anything requiring thought, and again Sandy cursed herself for agreeing to work. She needed the money, but Christ, as far as shifts went this was a killer. Early morning opening until six o’clock in the evening, long stretches of boredom. The hours punctuated by the usual irate office types hyped up on too much coffee, the usual crazies who wanted company more than products, the usual drunks pleading for cheap whiskey, the usual harassed mothers stuffing sugar into their sticky faced offspring.

The security camera caught Sandy’s fatigue in black and white, her dark hair stiff with cheap hairspray, her eyes dark and lined, the brown cotton work tunic straining over her ample bosom and generous stomach. It caught her short and stubby movements as she opened the cash register, closed the cash register, opened the register, closed the register.

“Mama could use some coffee but I guess this’ll have to do.” Another wink as she poured two fingers of bourbon into the scratched plastic cup from the bathroom. She climbed on the bed, towel gaping. She lit another cigarette and sat with her back to the headboard. “Just give myself a little more time to wake up. Can’t start the day without a little pick-me-up, can I, Betsy?” She gave a throaty laugh and took a slug of her drink. Clearing eyes stared into space through the smoke haze. “Just got to get things straight in my head before I make a move, Betsy. You know what I’m like, can’t move a muscle ‘til I have a good think about it first.”

With the morning rush over, Sandy had some time to kill. She tried her best to resist the chocolate on the front counter but failed miserably, as usual. “I swear, my wages go straight back into this damn register,” she said to no one in particular as she put her coins in. She looked down to her stomach and frowned as she crumbled the wrapper in her pudgy hand. “I need a new job. One where chocolate is not so handy.”