A Femme Fatale

You smile at your reflection. You run hand along your lush feminine curves. You look like a supermodel. Your hair is midnight black and lustrous. Your breasts strain against the shiny fabric of your little black dress. You spin. The back of the dress is open, nearly to the valley of your ass.

You fondle the gun. With your body and this little toy, you can do some damage. You think about just what it is you want.

You purse your full cherry lips. “Money and power.”

It sounds odd.

“Money and power.”

It sounds better the second time. Money and power is all you’ve ever wanted. You turn to exit, your black stiletto heels rhythmically clacking against the ground.

You exit the building stepping on a pretty wildflower. You grind your heel crushing it.

An apt metaphor for anyone who stands in your way, you think.

You walk down the street wondering where to start...