Happy Birthday
It was Marilyn’s birthday. Her nineteenth. Some birthday. Locked up in a hotel room on the 27th floor, above the rats below. She called them rats, anyway. A bunch of coarse men who’d gone floor to...
It was Marilyn’s birthday. Her nineteenth.
Some birthday. Locked up in a hotel room on the 27th floor, above the rats below. She called them rats, anyway. A bunch of coarse men who’d gone floor to floor, slaughtering men and rounding up the women, placing them in the higher rooms so they couldn’t sneak away. She’d tried, without success.
The funny thing, the women hadn’t been bothered in any way other than being locked away, one woman per room. They were well fed and treated okay, without brutality.
Marilyn had spoken through vents to women on either side, and their stories were like her own. The invasion came early during the night. Females were allowed to dress and pack a few things, sometimes in front of their murdered husbands and boyfriends. Of course, those packed items were gone over minutely for possible weapons. No nail files or hair spray. No ballpoints or pencils. Brushes were allowed, but not combs.
What were their plans?