The Aftermath

Fighting Fear

          This is my new Story about a girl recovering from the worst Trauma imaginable. It is kind of dark, but that comes with the subject matter. Read and Enjoy

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Fear. 

                You can't know it.

                You can't know it until you have experienced it.

                To have the right to be afraid, you must have lived in fear.

                I have lived in fear, so I can be afraid.

                My name is Fallon Reese and I am afraid.

                It happened on a Tuesday. I was in a bank, my account was frozen and I was trying to figure it out. I didn't know at the time that my darling mommy and daddy had cut me off and froze my trust fund until I moved back home.

                Anyways, while I was arguing with the teller about how it was completely impossible for my parents to cut me off, three men walked into the bank. I didn't notice them at first, they looked like unimposing painters.

That should have been a sign though, the bank robbers are always dressed as painters or electricians or other unassuming characters. But me being my stubborn self decided to stay focused on getting my money back and not about deciding which painters were official or not.

I found out soon enough.

"God, damnit. I just want my money!" I screamed at the teller. I was acting spoiled, but I was an artist and my paintings couldn't support the posh lifestyle that I am used to.

"I understand that ma'am,  but as I have said before,  your parents own the account and -"

" - since they own it, they have the power to freeze it and BAR ME FROM MY GOD DAMNED MONEY!" I finished the sentence for her, seeing as she had already said it four times.

"Ma'am I am sorry, but your parents closed the account, there is nothing we can do." She smiled timidly.  "Why don't you just ask them to open it?"

"Oh...why hadn't I thought of that? Oh yeah, we don't talk." I felt bad for snapping at her, but I was broke, and I needed my money.

"There is nothing more we can do. Have a nice day Miss Reese." She smiled hesitantly, probably afraid that I would pick up the shiny metal pencil holder and chuck it point blank at her face.

                I must admit, I contemplated it. But then I realized my lousy salary as a free-lance illustrator could not afford to pay a lawyer after I get arrested for assault.

                So instead, I knocked it over. The teller just looked at me as the fancy engraved pens rolled around her desk. I sneered as she scrambled to pick them up.

With as much attitude as I could muster I grabbed my handbag and jacket off the teller's booth and stormed out of the office.

It was unfortunate that I happened to storm directly into a painter.

It was also unfortunate that he happened to be built like a rock. The force of me running head first into his chest didn't faze him, he didn't budge at all.

I on the other hand fell flat on my ass.

"Shit faced hoe!" I screeched as I felt, and heard, my tail bone crack against the floor. Along with my aching derriere my purse had gotten caught on his elbow and overturned on itself, out pouring its contents in its entirety on to the floor.