The Snake Eaters Daughter

Chapter 2 ~ The Revenge of Bram Stoker's All-You-Can Eat Bad Shrimp Buffet.

"It's no surprise to me,
I am my own worst enemy.
Cause every now and then, 
I kick the living shit out of me."  

Lit ~ My most my worst enemy 

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Wading my way back through the sewage spill of horrible Impressionist crapola, I really don't feel right. I keep listing a little to the left, and suddenly a sort of strange shivering sickness is inside me, radiating out through my stomach. I think I might actually need to puke my guts out, and not just because of the art?

I keep trying to shake off the shivers, as I weave my way back thru the Escapes again and back out into the main gallery lobby. Where it takes me about five minutes before I can spot Rina in the crowd of clones. She is standing around with a group of older Warhole's whispering conspiratorially amongst each other and pointing around the gallery. I can only assume these whispering weirdos are the other judges of this little shitshow. So I walk straight at her, interrupting whatever the ongoing conversation was that I could care two craps less about. 

"Hey, I don't feel well. Can you give me your truck keys, so I can wait out in the parking lot?" I attempt to try to take the direct approach to my tactical withdraw.

"What's wrong Desdemona?" I can see the worry bloom in her brain, but I highly doubt it's actually about me. Much more along the lines of the pending shitfit scene, I might make in front of her people, if I don't get my way.

"I feel like I am gonna puke, okay? And again don't call me Desdemona ...it's just Demona." I correct her for the second time today. "So keys please, I need to get some air now, before I hurl?"

"Okay..." But I can see she really doesn't want to give me the truck keys. At this point, she's probably afraid I will drive myself to the border badlands to start my career as a hit-chick assassin for the Cali Cartels. So instead of handing me over the keys, Rina leads me outside to her old pickup truck in the parking lot.

"Is that better?" She inquires almost not too totally irritated.

"Maybe, if I can sit on the tailgate and suck some fresh air for a while, that would be better." I intone hollowly, more to myself than to her inquiry. "So you can just go do your art thing or whatever."

"Demona, I realy don't feel good about leaving you out here all by yourself." She glances around the dark parking lot like she is looking around for some serial killers lurking in the shadows.

As if any self-respecting serial killer would be caught dead at the so-called "Talents of Tomorrow". But then again, they might want to drop by and pay their respects to Bob Ross? Maybe take a trophy or two home to play with? After all, who knows what strange sad songs scream inside the heads of the human hunters.

"Then maybe you should have thought of that before you dragged me here against my desire?" I sorta snap back. "Especially, when you knew damn well I didn't want to be here, looking at this lame ass emo art crap, huh?"

The words sound about right, but something feels off in me. I don't sound mean or spiteful or hardly even hostile at all? Instead, I just sound distant, numb, and dumb. 

"Desdemona, I really don't think that's called for..." Rina starts trying to say something that almost sounds reasonably parental.

"So sorry you feel that way, Christina." I cut her off quick and clean before she can really get rolling on how horrible I am. "And no offense, but do you even have half a clue, what the hell you are gonna do with me? Like when I get sick in the middle of one of your work things? When you feel all responsible and shit? But just not responsible enough to leave and take me home, so I can get a shot of Niquil and lay down?"