Yes (The End)

She pounds on the door to the warehouse, and finally relinquishes all rational senses she has got left. She wants the substance that’s emitting that smell, even if it means ****, or worse.

“Shit, who the fuck is it?” An angry black man opens the door, and immediately covered his nostrils because of the smell, “What the fuck? What the hell do you want?”

“Please fuck me… I want whatever you’re cooking right now!” She begs, but her plead is responded only by laughter, “Not even a fucking hobo would want to fuck you, bitch, get the fuck out!” All the black men in the warehouse laugh, and the one at the door is already ushering her out.

“Are you all castrated or something, you fucking *N word*s?”

The entire room is silenced, until one of them says, “What the fuck did you say, white bitch?” Every man in the room slowly stands up, eyeballing her not out of lust, but out of anger.

The guy at the door yanks her hair and drags her inside the room. Layla can’t help but smirk, until muscled feet and fists start raining down on her tender meat after the door to the outside slams shut for good. The men hang her alongside with the other punching bags in the house, but still wouldn’t give her the substance that she craves the most. Her moans and screams are responded only with punches and scorching hot cigarette butts.

This is probably the last time anyone would ever see or “hear from” Layla, the living punching bag, the ashtray, and the meat doormat ever again.