Part 1 - Good Golly, Miss Molly

She stood there, the pistol smoking with remnants of a recent discharge. The mirror above her dressing-table shone back untidy black curls, smudged lip-stick and eye-liner run away with her tears. The lights above the mirror were bright, and the pistol glinted much the same way as the diamond ring on her left hand.

The pistol fell on the Turkish towel that lay spread out on the bed; the satin covers were badly stained, but they are easily replaceable.

It had been a difficult life alright, one that was filled with virtues and a need for self-preservation and respect for mankind. But there is a limit, you know…to respect, that is.

So the first man she dated was married, and the second one married someone else. So what now? She used to clean floors at the restaurant during college days, and suffered unkind remarks from overly-rich and underly-worked folks from those up-town places. But it was enough to pay the rent while the scholarship took care of the rest.

It’s amazing how far education cannot take you. But then, music and beauty always go hand in hand; in an unkind world, you have to hit back with all you got. If you don’t have anything, sing about it. If you can’t sing well, sing really loud. Then you’re a rock star.

So it was with her. A series of roller-coaster rides and relationships later, she found herself deeply in debt, deeply sought after, and deeply into various addictions. It was a vicious cycle as one fed the other. But one could wake up to see tomorrow.

Let’s see now; the first job didn’t go too badly. Her boss was shifted to another department before the end-of-the-year. That left her with pretty much nobody to explain to her why she was redundant.

The next job didn’t go too badly either; when you’ve been dumped, it’s expected that you will work twice as hard to earn half as much. And you shouldn’t ask for a bonus either. That would be terrible, if you did.

But then, everything clicked and fell into place. Then it got a little hazy.

But now, the lights were dimming and the view from across the balcony of her twentieth-floor flat spanned a series of twinkling lights that were of varying heights in the far distance, but married each other to form a perfect arc that highlighted the haze enveloping the city in a comfortable, choking clasp.

She fell back.

Some minutes later, the police barged into the room; the pretty lady was found lying on bed with a bullet-hole through her left temple.

The satin was a real mess.