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Apr. 13th, 2005 06:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
amityville_sweetheartThe day has produced little to no results, and Corrine is now heading home, exhausted and just as depressed as the day before. "'We'll call you'," she mutters to herself, letting her feet flop-flop-flop lazily along the pavement. "I really hate those words, now. Why don't people just say, 'Why in the Merciful Kitten's name would we give YOU a job? Don't hold your breath! Would you like your resume back, or should we just shred it now?'"
'Ah, you're being pessimistic, Corri. Then again, pessimism got you two new friends last night.' She sighs, pausing at the street corner as she waits for the 'walk' light to change. 'Or there's always the idea that you totally freaked them out with your paranoid shut-in act. Which begs the question-- 'stone them with kindness'? Not trying to look at all valiant, are you? Don't pat yourself on the back for doing the right thing. It's expected, not special. Everyone knows it but you.'
"And my brain thwarts me again," she says to herself, garnering looks from people nearby. '_That_, my dear, is why you have no friends. You talk to yourself entirely too much.'
She crosses the street, waving in appreciation at the driver who lets her cross before his left turn. She ponders for a moment that perhaps this is the extent of people's random acts of kindness-- allowing people to cross the street before your turn, consoling an obviously drunk and depressed stranger in a bar-- all the greatest acts of goodness you will ever experience.
'But what about Superman? He saves people's lives,' she tells herself. 'No,' the other part of her brain argues. 'Pity. The same reason you didn't press charges on that boy. The bible never said Jesus loved people because he genuinely did. It says he saw them as 'sheep without a shephard'. What's that tell you about the world? That we're all lost sheep, waiting for a shephard to tell us what to do. Or save us when the grass looks greener out in the woods, and we get attacked by wolves. Oh, my dear, you are much too philosophical and cynical tonight.'
She's so preoccupied with these thoughts that she never sees him coming. He must've been standing behind the edge of the building she's just passed, she realizes far too late. Reflexes kick in, and her arm is yanked forward.
"Hey!" she screams, suddenly realizing she's alone. She looks around desperately for a cop, a passer-by, anyone. "Purse snatcher! Purse snatcher!"
The man holding onto the other end of her purse strap is trying to run. He outweighs her by at least fifty pounds, and as he struggles with her for the purse, he begins dragging her along the sidewalk. "Leggo, lady! It's better off for you!"
"Let GO!" she screams back, yanking back hard on her bag. He tumbles towards her, and she can see the glint of metal. She tries to dodge, but not fast enough. It doesn't bleed at first, only stings. She doesn't let go of the purse, though, instead giving it the hardest tug she can muster.
He's off his balance again, and stumbles towards her. She can see the switch-blade this time, and dodges to the side. He tries to use the momentum to his advantage, and take off in the other direction.
Corrine sighs to herself, knowing that what she's about to do may very well get her killed. She won't be a victim, though. She won't be a lost sheep. She lets go of the bag at the same time dropping into a stoop and swinging both her legs out. It has the desired effect, and the snatcher lands on his face, a sickening crackling sound echoing into the alley behind them. The knife has clattered into the street, too far away for either of them to reach.
"Now," she grumbles, stepping on his one visible hand. There's a 'crunch' that Corrine finds quite satisfying, and she rests her other boot on the back of his neck. "Very, very slowly... give me back my purse."
"Doo bwoke my bose!" he screams, face pressed against the asphalt.
"Give me back my purse!" she screams, and his arm reaches out from under him to produce the purse. She leans down in a quick motion to grab the purse. "Thank you," she says, legitmately pleasant. "Now if you'll cooperate just a few moments more, I'll let you be on your way."
Quietly, her feet still in the same position, she reaches into her purse. 'Now, concentrate, Corri. It may only be a few seconds before he gets the better of you. There's _got_ to be a probability somewhere, some alternate version of these events, where you own one...' She digs around in her bag frantically, and a moment later produces a cell phone.
"...I can't believe that worked..." she murmers to herself, staring at the phone in her hand. Reminding herself again that she may have a limited amount of time, she dials 911.
"Hello? Oh, thank the Merciful Kitten! My name is Corrine Bertrand, and someone just tried to mug me... no, they tried to, I've currently got them under my boot... yes, I said under my _boot_! Well, he's ten times bigger than me, I... yes, I'm at the corner of White and Springdale..."
'Ah, you're being pessimistic, Corri. Then again, pessimism got you two new friends last night.' She sighs, pausing at the street corner as she waits for the 'walk' light to change. 'Or there's always the idea that you totally freaked them out with your paranoid shut-in act. Which begs the question-- 'stone them with kindness'? Not trying to look at all valiant, are you? Don't pat yourself on the back for doing the right thing. It's expected, not special. Everyone knows it but you.'
"And my brain thwarts me again," she says to herself, garnering looks from people nearby. '_That_, my dear, is why you have no friends. You talk to yourself entirely too much.'
She crosses the street, waving in appreciation at the driver who lets her cross before his left turn. She ponders for a moment that perhaps this is the extent of people's random acts of kindness-- allowing people to cross the street before your turn, consoling an obviously drunk and depressed stranger in a bar-- all the greatest acts of goodness you will ever experience.
'But what about Superman? He saves people's lives,' she tells herself. 'No,' the other part of her brain argues. 'Pity. The same reason you didn't press charges on that boy. The bible never said Jesus loved people because he genuinely did. It says he saw them as 'sheep without a shephard'. What's that tell you about the world? That we're all lost sheep, waiting for a shephard to tell us what to do. Or save us when the grass looks greener out in the woods, and we get attacked by wolves. Oh, my dear, you are much too philosophical and cynical tonight.'
She's so preoccupied with these thoughts that she never sees him coming. He must've been standing behind the edge of the building she's just passed, she realizes far too late. Reflexes kick in, and her arm is yanked forward.
"Hey!" she screams, suddenly realizing she's alone. She looks around desperately for a cop, a passer-by, anyone. "Purse snatcher! Purse snatcher!"
The man holding onto the other end of her purse strap is trying to run. He outweighs her by at least fifty pounds, and as he struggles with her for the purse, he begins dragging her along the sidewalk. "Leggo, lady! It's better off for you!"
"Let GO!" she screams back, yanking back hard on her bag. He tumbles towards her, and she can see the glint of metal. She tries to dodge, but not fast enough. It doesn't bleed at first, only stings. She doesn't let go of the purse, though, instead giving it the hardest tug she can muster.
He's off his balance again, and stumbles towards her. She can see the switch-blade this time, and dodges to the side. He tries to use the momentum to his advantage, and take off in the other direction.
Corrine sighs to herself, knowing that what she's about to do may very well get her killed. She won't be a victim, though. She won't be a lost sheep. She lets go of the bag at the same time dropping into a stoop and swinging both her legs out. It has the desired effect, and the snatcher lands on his face, a sickening crackling sound echoing into the alley behind them. The knife has clattered into the street, too far away for either of them to reach.
"Now," she grumbles, stepping on his one visible hand. There's a 'crunch' that Corrine finds quite satisfying, and she rests her other boot on the back of his neck. "Very, very slowly... give me back my purse."
"Doo bwoke my bose!" he screams, face pressed against the asphalt.
"Give me back my purse!" she screams, and his arm reaches out from under him to produce the purse. She leans down in a quick motion to grab the purse. "Thank you," she says, legitmately pleasant. "Now if you'll cooperate just a few moments more, I'll let you be on your way."
Quietly, her feet still in the same position, she reaches into her purse. 'Now, concentrate, Corri. It may only be a few seconds before he gets the better of you. There's _got_ to be a probability somewhere, some alternate version of these events, where you own one...' She digs around in her bag frantically, and a moment later produces a cell phone.
"...I can't believe that worked..." she murmers to herself, staring at the phone in her hand. Reminding herself again that she may have a limited amount of time, she dials 911.
"Hello? Oh, thank the Merciful Kitten! My name is Corrine Bertrand, and someone just tried to mug me... no, they tried to, I've currently got them under my boot... yes, I said under my _boot_! Well, he's ten times bigger than me, I... yes, I'm at the corner of White and Springdale..."
