How It All Began

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    It started off as a normal night at work. Midajah worked as a bartender for Lafayette's newest, hottest venue, Lost Souls, a Gothic watering hole, and popular haunt. Midajah scored the job easily, a legend amongst mixologists.

    Midajah's mother was a creole voodoo witch from New Orleans, so of course, she inherited certain skills, and mixing drinks was one of them. Midajah was only eighteen years old, but she had more skill than all of the bartenders down Jefferson St. combined. She had loyal customers that would leave her big tips for her creativity. Midajah would customize each drink by floating a tiny black fondant coffin, filled with granules of flavored sugar. "A little bit of sweetness to ease down the poison", she was fond of saying.

    Midajah had an exotic flare to her. She got her looks from her creole mother and Dominican father, and was very light skinned, almost pale. Her strong features showed that she was black though, and Midajah's realness would come out, often in the form of sarcasm. She told rude people off, and gave people their props when she liked something. She loved dressing in black, form fitting corsets that made her boobs look unreal, the smooth, creamy light brown orbs like a cafe au lait. Many people, both male and female, had crushes on Midajah, admiring her droll  sense of humor. Her best friends Ruby, a brainiac/emo and Willow, a flamboyant gay film maker, always said that Midajah was about as subtle as a flying brick, but they loved her defiance and looked to her as a role model.

   It was near closing time, and the djay announced the last call. A few posers, eager to impress and please ordered a last round, and then Midajah was able to clean and restock her bar. She went to the storage room and began pulling out boxes of napkins, stirrers and things she would need for the next shift. Midajah heard a noise, then noticed the back door was open. She grabbed what she needed and went back to the front, running into Marcos, the club owner.

   "Midajah! How's it going?", he asked. Marcos was a tall, skinny, long haired guy, who had a penchant for steam punk coats. Midajah asked him if he had left the back door open, and he said no, going in the back to check things out. "Stay here while I go take a look!", he said. The club was eerily quiet, and Midajah placed  the boxes down, listening to hear Marcos.

    Midajah could hear a lone siren sounding somewhere in the vicinity, and was beginning to get worried. She moved towards the back door slowly, her heart beating fast. "Blah blah blah!", yelled Marcos, frightening Midajah, who jumped. "Jesus, Marcos! You scared the shit out of me!", she exclaimed. "One of the others must have left the door open! I don't see anyone!", said Marcos. Midajah quickly finished restocking, then grabbed her satchel and skateboard and headed towards the door. "Night!", called Marcos.

     Midajah was walking a ways down the strip when she decided to turn off to take a short cut home. She didn't live that far away, and would make it home faster by board, so she set her skateboard down and put her earbuds in her ears, footing the board and gaining momentum. She was rolling along, listening to  Paramore's Decode, and didn't see when the guy entered her path. Midajah looked up in time to see some creep standing in her way, a foul grin on his face.

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