Would You? Really?

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by Ellen Delicious

Flower, she was a short little runt.
She could have been pretty, if she knew how to present herself.
But she lacked the most important ingredient. She didn't feel pretty.
She was the low self-esteem poster son.

A bad boy, far older then the just teenaged girl, showed Flower attention. Not kindness, not even lust, but he did look at her. Giving him her virginity seemed only right for the great boom he bestowed on her.
That was what her first time was like. Him not knowing or caring, her fearful that he'd find out she was an amateur and would kick her out.
He must have found her to be good enough. He kept her around, for then.

About the time she was another year older there were other girls for him to use. But Flower given everything she had to him and pleaded with him to keep her.
"I love you," she cried. "I'll do anything for you."
So he told her want to do. She was to give herself to his friend in payment for grass.
She protested that she wanted to make love to only him.
"Well, I don't want to fuck you. Go fuck my dealer so he'll stop bugging me about paying for his pot."

Flower had been passed around for a couple of years. Not many, but some.
Some men had made her fix herself up. She could look pretty, if one didn't look into her eyes.
She was used for sex, almost like a toilet. Something to jack off into.
She valued this use. She could do anything, would do anything, if it would make them keep her around for at least that purpose.

Eventually she ended up with Charlie.
He wasn't Charlie Manson, but only because the last name was different.
He knew how to use girls like Flower. He had collected several.
He was a loser with a gaggle of losers in his tow.
He was broke all the time, and they were often hungry. And always bored.
Sometimes he would make them do degrading things just to show he could.
He made a girl use her tongue for his toilet paper. Soon, even when proper facilities were around, he kept up the practice, just to prove his hold over his girls.
He pimped the girls out. But they were dirty and underfed and turned down by all but the poorest possible client.

They were trapped in a pit and there didn't appear to be anyway out.
Charlie gave this a great deal of thought.
They were in the country. Charlie thought they would move to the country and live off the land. That idea went as far as all the other half baked ideas he had.
All he had managed was to get far away from other people, and lights.
They were in a small canyon. Charlie was looking at his skinny girls, thinking that if he could just feed them proper so they didn't look so retched. Then they could get customers with money, customers that would pay to fuck his girls. Once he had money he could feed them better and make them look better and get more money from pimping them out.
A great plan was developing in Charlie's head. He saw his girls looking glamorous and the money from their johns pouring in.
Charlie would have money and could woo more girls, better girls. And empire lay before Charlie for him to take.
It started with him getting his skinny girls fed, and with that thought the great idea came to Charlie.

He explained it to the girls. They didn't know what he was talking about, but that didn't matter, they were going to do whatever Charlie told them to do.
They were too far gone, and Charlie never was good at explaining.
But he had them build a fire with all the scrap wood and debris they could find.

"Now one of you has to give herself to make us strong."
No one knew what Charlie was talking about.
"One girl has to die and be cooked so the rest of us can have a glorious life."
The word "Die" registered, but not what Charlie was asking.
"Come on," Charlie demanded. "One of you has to do this, for me, for all of us."
Doing for Charlie was something Flower understood. She said she'd do it.

He had her undress. Being naked was nothing for Flower. She didn't care about anything that concerned herself.
He had the other girls undress to, for effect.
All that malnourished female flesh did nothing for Charlie.
The girls asked what to do.
"I guess we have to kill Flower."

The statement had no effect of Flower. She had heard but didn't react.
Maybe she didn't hear, maybe she didn't understand. Probably she just didn't care anymore.
Charlie gave a stick to the strongest looking girl. She hit Flower over the head.
"Ow, that hurt," Flower cried.
"You have to hit her harder," Charlie said.
The girl hit Flower again and again Flower cried out.
The girl wasn't strong enough.

"Here, I guess I'll have to do it," Charlie said. He always got to eat first, and was far stronger than any of his girls.
He swung the stick and got another cry from Flower. The blow knocked her down.
Charlie found a bigger stick. A full two by four.
He swung again, hitting Flower on the side of the head.
Her head was driven sideways. Inertia kept her brain in place until the moving skull caught up with it, slamming it sideways.
Flower fell and when she hit the ground and stopped falling her brain kept moving striking the other side of her skull.
Flower became unconscious with concussion.

They all thought Flower was dead.
Charlie was kind of thrilled by the idea that he could do something so important to a human.
The other girls didn't give it much thought. It didn't look so bad, being dead. Flower had done worse things for Charlie. All the girls had.

Now the problem was how to cook Flower. Charlie had thought only as far as a dead girl and a big fire. He dragged Flower's body over to the fire, but was stumped about what to do after that.
Finally he lifted Flower and dumped her in the fire.

Flower moaned and then screamed. She rolled out of the fire, still screaming.
Charlie was screaming, the girls were screaming, Flower was screaming.
Charlie hit Flower in the head again, and again. This time he used a rock. When Charlie stopped hitting Flower in the head when there was do doubt that she was dead.
People who are alive don't have a large deep hole in their skull.

That was the end of the story for Flower.
All in all not the worse thing to ever happen to her. And now, her problems were all over.
No more guilt, no more feeling worthless, no more feeling like she was nothing.
Now, nothing was all.

When the fire burned out, Charlie tried to get the girls to eat the mostly charred body.
He tried to get some meat off the body. He had been hungry when he started this, but now all hungry had gone far away.
But it was his great plan, and he was going to show how great his plan was.
Between the char and the raw there was some flesh that was cooked.
He tore at it. The meat between the burned to charcoal and the bloody raw wasn't bad.
He got the girls to eat. They had gone this far; they couldn't back out now.
That was as far as the great plan went.
The remains of Flower were covered up with debris. Charlie and the girls were walking back to the city when police came to investigate complaints about the smell.
They were detained when the police reported on what they had found.
The trial made headlines nation wide.
Charlie was the monster. The girls were also monsters, but not as big as Charlie. Flower was the poor innocent victim. No one pointed out that if one of the other girls had felt less about herself than Flower, then she too would have been a defendant.
The crime was too bizarre and they were all ruled insane. Maybe there was a justice in that verdict.

The years have passed. Every decade or so a newspaper does a follow up. Charlie and the girls are still confined as criminally insane.
A picture of Flower from her school days blown up and shown. A description of the crime is printed. People read and shake their head.
They ask how could such a thing happen, amazed again at the evil in stupidity.

The End

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