The closet doors burst open, and a wave of fresh cool air flooded into the hot stale closet. Gerome had expected everyone to start screaming again, but at this point they were so used to Maria’s presence it didn’t really phase them anymore.

               The floor beneath him shunted to his right, and the darkness of the drawers interior was replaced with the artificial light from Maria’s ceiling fan. Her face hovered over the shivering mass of wounded men and overworked doctors; it was beautiful, her naturally tan skin glimmered in the light, and her hair which was fashionably tousled flowed gently down across her face.

               For Gerome this was the second time he got a close look of her, and needless to say he was impressed. Although not perfect, Maria was a voluptuous Hispanic darling full and through; the type of girl he used to dream of getting back when he was 20 years younger. College girls were so different back then, or perhaps it was all in his head; having been confined for so long, his view on woman was somewhat idealized.

               What was of greater interest to him was not her beauty, but the disparity it represented. Every man and woman with him was as silent and still as a rock, their faces slathered in dirt and oil. They were disheveled, unshaven; some of them covered in dried blood. He almost wanted to be in darkness again, so he wouldn’t have to see anyone like this.

               “Howdy there.” Said the bearded doctor, “Can our fine lil establishment help ye with something?”

               She breathed in. Cute lips parting slightly to reveal a massive row of neat white teeth, “Yes actually. I’m looking for Gerome Tillman.”

               The doctor fidgeted nervously, “Now hold up now. He ain’t in any shape to be movin about, you hear?”

               “Chill doc, I’ll return him when I’m done. I just need him for leverage. But hey, if it’ll help motivate you I brought some supplies.”

               The doctor looked around, “Gerome. You better not be dead.”

               After all the injuries he’d suffered it seemed that more were likely to come. It didn’t faze him in the slightest, all he needed was one sufficient mistake, and he could escape again. From there, who the fuck knows, maybe he’d convince some little girl he’s was a fairy or some bullshit.

               “I’m over here doc.” He said  

               Maria’s face twitched slightly with disgust. The man known as Gerome was almost beyond recognition. The part of his hairline near his temple had been ripped off by the force of Cynthia’s shoe. His arm was dislocated from Chelsea, and both of his bruised legs shook from strain.

               She remembered the first time she saw him; he was the very first prisoner she ever touched. Back then, which was only a couple of days ago, he was healthy; possibly even happy. Now he was a miserable wreck; meanwhile it was like nothing had changed for her.

               She wrapped both hands carefully around his delicate body, and lifted him from the container. Poor thing was no bigger than her middle finger, just squeezing to hard would kill him. She didn’t have anywhere to put him, so without further delay she placed him gently in her pocket, picked up her things, and walked out of her room.

****

               Cynthia peeked out from the crack in her door. Maria was off on another morality quest, in other words, time for her to play. Today’s victim, Keiko, the so called ‘Samurai Queen’ of Alpha-Beta-Omega; whose foreign-born eccentricities, and lackluster English skills, had only served to isolate her following the slaughter in the basement.

               It also didn’t help that out of all the girls there that day; she was the only one who attempted to contact the police. In a way, Cynthia felt bad; she never intended for anyone innocent to get hurt.

               Walking down into the foyer, it seemed like the house was quite active today, with pledges coming and going; the perfect opportunity to have some cheap quick fun. And speak of the devil, directly to her right was Keiko, overseeing the whole operation with a stiff upper lip.

               Just one look told the whole story, “Hmmm, that’s not a happy face…”

               Immediately Keiko turned to face her with a glare, which is expected considering Cynthia had helped frame her for murder, “You have serious nerve to come face me. You should know I will never forgive you.”

               Cynthia smiled; it was at least a reaction, “OH MY GOD, that’s sooooo great… nobody cares Kiki.”

               Her scowl continued, oblivious to the sarcasm, “That’s not my name.”

               “Whatever. Point is… I feel like you and I should be friends, right?”

               “What? NO!”

               “Ugh. fine,” Scoffed Cynthia, circling around her like an imp, “Go perform your Shinto rituals until god, like, strikes me down or whatev’s. Or you can listen, and then maybe you and I can have some fun for once.”

               That last sentence stopped Keiko dead in her tracks; perhaps it was just false hope, but she was dying to get rid of this guilt, and although Cynthia was a bitch, something seems to have been working in her favour, “You have one chance.”

               The moment Keiko said those words, Cynthia’s tiny hands clasped around hers, “Good. I just need you to agree to one thing…”

****

               Gerome clawed desperately at the denim as Maria’s powerful thighs pushed and pulled against her tight designer jeans, slamming him repetitively into the rock hard surface of her muscular leg; loose pieces of lint and the stitching of the pocket scratching at his skin as he struggled to maintain a sense of orientation. The sheer force was undefeatable, despite a wall of thick fabric he could feel the muscles tightening and contracting; vibrating in perfect harmony with her body.

               She must have been moving through a crowd as all around him people spoke; their voices echoing, as if a hundred broadcasts were being held in the endless void just outside her pocket. Once again he found his entire existence revolving entirely around Maria, whom after ripping him from the peace of the medical drawer had become his entire world.

               He heard a car door open and moments later Maria’s index finger and thumb pinch him by the arm and slowly worked him out from the tight fabric. Just as he anticipated he was in Maria’s car, which appeared to him like an untidy alien world of discarded personal belongings overshadowed by the towering walls and upholstery.

               “I’m not going to lie; this is going to be hella unpleasant for you.” Said Maria in an unsympathetic tone, as if a decent imitation of concern was somehow not worth her time, “Fortunately, I don’t drive with my left foot.”

               Before he could speak, the long sloping surface of her left leg folded into her lap, a golden bronzed athletic foot, naturally tanned from days in the sun, suddenly slapping into the large flat chair beneath him. Its surface littered with small bits of dust that shined like glitter. On the floor was a pair of flip flops which he recognized from that day at the prison. He could even make out where that guard died, although what was left had long since faded into a warped opaque stain covered by an even larger imprint of Maria’s toes.

               The sheer inhumanity was almost enough to make him vomit, but like all hardened men Gerome snapped instead, “Just kill us already.”

               Her eyes widened with shock, then quickly faded back into apathy, having become immune to even the most horror-stricken pleas for mercy, “The fact that you’re asking is all the more reason for me to keep you alive.”

               “I-I had a death sentence! You know… you’d be doing the world a huge justice by just getting rid of us.”

               Even now, Cynthia’s twisted values kept chasing her; it was annoying, “Relax, we’ll be at Chelsea’s in a bit.”

               “But why do I have to go down there?”

               Normally he’d have a point, but with the military in full crackdown mode, body and car searches were not uncommon. The last thing she needed was some feely ace private getting a lucky grab at her ass, “Just stay quiet…” admittedly it was also because she couldn’t allow herself to go soft, even for a second. When you have a genocide slowly unfolding in your closet, it’s a lot easier to just not consider them human, “… and suck it up, or this ride’s gonna be hella long.”

               He tried to resist, all the way down to the floor, but Maria was just too strong; a single finger overpowered both his arms, and she was using all five to put him in his place. Which for him was the insole; somewhere she could easily retrieve or dispose of him.

               She planted him against the hard grimy surface, and replaced the gentleness of her hand with the raw force of her entire leg, “Stop squirming, you’re just going to get hurt.” She said, lowering her tanned foot until his body was completely immobilized; powerless to resist even the tiniest muscles in her elongated toes, which flattened and folded around him like hot dough.

****

               Keiko couldn’t believe what she was seeing, a literal wall of prisoners, hidden behind a wood panel in her dresser. The set-up was beyond intricate, with little tubes running up along the walls, delivering food, water, and waste to their respective areas; she even made a recreation area that folded out when you removed the panel. It raised the question, “How… and why did you do this?”

               “Umm, you do know I’m an engineer, right?”

               That wasn’t the point. It was the fact that none of them were talking. These tough looking men, many of whom embody the literal worst of human nature, were all silent in the face of Cynthia; a five foot tall valley girl who could pass for a high school student, “Even still…” replied Keiko desperately trying to lighten the awkward mood.

               “Even nothing, sweetie. I gotta keep em hidden away, and just barely alive.”

               From the looks of it, only the last part was true. There was no face left unscarred, no body unmarked, and no hope for any of them. Especially the ones nearest to the top, “W-What did the ones in the cages do?”

               Her lips curled into an expression of pure disgust, “Rapists.”

               So this was the real Cynthia, “You needed me for something. What was it?”

               In a split-second, her indiscriminate rage was replaced by a cheerful smile. It was hopelessly artificial, like a bad stage performance, “Wow, straight to business. You don’t fuck around kiki.”

               Cynthia reached up into her wall of inmates, and grabbed two screaming sobbing men; snatching them off the shelf like knick-knacks, “Well here’s the thing. You and I made an agreement, Buuuut… I don’t know if I can trust you.”

               “Not my problem.”

               She held out her hand, and presented the two men, “I want you to kill both of them.”

               “You’re insane!”

               Cynthia rolled her eyes, “Do you want to live your life guilt free or not?”

               It was as though a knife had stabbed Keiko through the heart. She couldn’t take the stress anymore; the guilt of knowing what she did was too much for her to bear. More than anything she wanted to turn herself in, but she was afraid, and honestly a bit selfish. Why should she have to suffer because of Maria’s mistake, for a group of people nobody gives a damn about?

               “I-I’ll do it! For myself and for all of us… even you.”

               Instead of a reply, Cynthia turned her palm over and handed Keiko the two wriggling men, who rolled softly down her fingers. The weight of their bodies was almost nothing, but the responsibility, the idea of two lives in her hand, was the heaviest burden Keiko had ever held.

****

               People say the expression “Between a rock and a hard place” when they have two equally unpleasant choices to face. In that moment, Gerome had decided to hate those people, because at least they got a choice. Until you’ve spent an hour trapped under a college girl’s foot, in tropical weather, you don’t know the definition of suffering.

               Granted it wasn’t summer, but Maria liked to keep her car warm, and unfortunately just clean enough for her to use; which meant that during the few times that gigantic mass of soft wrinkled skin wasn’t pressing him into a dusty rubber insole, he was forced to stare out at a trash ridden wasteland being terrorized by her other foot. The pressure was incredible, he could barely breathe, and whenever she allowed him the air was tepid and salty. His already injured face hurt the most, held down by a plump slab of muscle the size of his torso, he could almost feel his skull yielding beneath her. He felt humiliated, but above all that, Gerome was afraid for his life; in this position, Maria could flex her ankle, and splatter him.

               Just like the guard, whose faded stain was right next to him, “Alright, I’m about five-ish minutes away, how you doing down there?” said Maria, in a blank tone.

               He couldn’t speak, not enough air. The only thing he could do was struggle, with all his might, to resist the enormous pressure balanced on top of him, “Ok you’re alive, that’s good! Just… try hold out a little bit longer, ok.”

               And to think, somewhere in Mississippi he had a daughter around her age.

               “So… I was pretty hungry and got some fast food. You want some?”

               Her indomitable ped retreated into the sky; it’s slightly sticky surface peeling off his skin, leaving behind large swirly red marks, roughly in the shape of her footprint.

               “You little brat,” he said, wiping dust off of his torn shirt, “I have half the mind too…”

               Before Gerome could finish, Maria tapped the brakes; sending him sprawling to his hands and knees, then off the platform of her sandal. His still injured head smacked the ground, a jolt of pain shooting through his body.

               “So am I to interpret that as a no?”

               It felt like someone had stabbed him in the brain with a knife, “Oh god, I think I’m going to be sick.” He cried, trying to rub the pain from his forehead.

               She rolled her eyes, “You know Gerome, I honestly feel bad for you sometimes. After all you had to go through...”

               He managed to stand on both legs, but the world was spinning, “Then why are you being such a goddamn bitch. Please, educate me.”

               “I really don’t know.” She replied, like it was easiest thing in the world to say, “I mean, fuckin-A I used to cry for you guys! Now, I hear the daily death toll, and hardly get sad at all.”

                For a brief moment Maria stared down at him longingly, as though she expected him to have the answers. Truthfully he did, it was quite obvious what was happening to her; she was becoming more like him, one heart-wrenching event at a time.

               Soon she won’t even be able to recognize herself, “I don’t really understand, but I’m a lot older than you. So if you need someone to talk too…” when that happens, it’ll pay to be on her good side, “I’m never more than a few steps away.”

               She smirked, probably misinterpreting it as flirtation, “For now, just promise me you’ll be good.”

               “Only if I don’t have to ride in your shoe.”