I Burned My Finger... But enough of that...

So Melissa and I went to Starbucks to write tonight and we worked on this: We created a character to kill off together, each person writing one sentence and then passing the notebook for the next person... We also set the ending line before we started writing: And the kitten piddled in her flowerpot. Enjoy!

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Hortense-Maria Deloy is a 32 year old Yale drop out (she failed to declare a major, but got straight As) who works as a pole dancer for free, owns a high end website which nobody knows she owns, wears her very very curly hair very very short, has horned rimmed glasses and is wearing a black mini-skirt the day of her death.

She's had three boyfriends, five one-night stands and one girlfriend (The Dean of Yale's daughter). Her father is a radio-preacher and her brother a missionary. She drinks coffee mixed with tea and has spoiled milk for her hang overs.

***

Four years out of Yale, Hortense-Maria Deloy settled in the mansion left to her in her father's will. She wandered the halls for days, reminiscing about the photographs of celebrities posed with her father.

Her favorite was the one of him with Robert Redford outside the MGM Grand Hotel. She spit up on his jacket immediately after it was taken; her father had not been pleased. But of course, a godly man admonishing his four year old daughter in public was unheard of--until then.

Hortense smiled at the memory-- it wasn't often that her dad was publicly humiliated.

On the fifth day of wandering her house alone, Hortense heard a hurried knock at the door.

One hand went to her hair--perfectly chaotic curls cut close to her head that made her look like an electrocuted cow. The other hand straightened the horned rimmed glasses and pushed them back up the bridge of her nose.

With a toss of her head she opened the door-- and found a wild-eyed woman with smudged make up and straining eyes leveling a gun at her.

"Oh," she said. "Hi Mom."

"I've never forgiven you." Her mother's hand trembled on the trigger.

Hortense made a face and sighed. "He was too young for you anyways,"

"He was NOT!" Her mother shrieked. "I loved that man with a passion you will never be able to understand... you were no more than a child!"

"Just like dad?"

Her mom had a faraway look in her eyes. "That man was an idol, a god, a genius born for the camera. And your father was nothing more than a second-rate preacher!"

Hortense smiled dreamily. "That man WAS a god... Oh those lovely, round little--"

"Fingers!" her mother yelled. The dreamy look was replaced with one of inconceivable rage. "His beautiful, beautiful fingers! And you-- you SPIT UP all over them!"

AND THEN HORTENSE-MARIA DELOY GOES CRAZY AND RUNS INTO A FLOWERPOT THAT SHATTERS AND PIERCES HER RIGHT AORTA, MAKING HER LEFT VENTRICLE EXPLODE!

Her mom looked down at the corpse.

"Shit," she said. "I waited too long." She noticed the neighbor's cat, who had come running at the sound of shattering ceramic.

Hortense's mother gave the cat a familiar nod. "Do your best, pussy."

And the kitten fucking piddled in her fucking flowerpot.