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    Dead Girl Walking

    Story written on August 6, 2007 by helebette.
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    1 vote, average: 2.00 out of 51 vote, average: 2.00 out of 51 vote, average: 2.00 out of 51 vote, average: 2.00 out of 51 vote, average: 2.00 out of 5 (1 votes, average: 2.00 out of 5)
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    Number of Comments: 12
    Words: 1011
    Story Shortlink: https://lesfan.com/?p=66460
    Author Notes:

    Bette, a toilet seat, and too much red wine

    “My name’s Bette…and this is my life.”

    “This was my life…”

    “My sister—Kit…she’s a recovering alcoholic with whom I did not speak for five years. Now, we get together every Thanksgiving and Christmas to rehash all of the reasons why we don’t get together any other time…”

    “my new boss, Phyllis. I am…I was…the Dean of Arts at a prominent California University. Phyllis likes to organize her drawers at home, walk her cat on a leash in her back garden, and tell me all of her romantic problems while I field phone calls from irate parents, and file yet another failing student’s grades into an archaic computer program. And that’s just a morning with this woman.”

    “The truth was, I was only Dean for half a day. Then a flying toilet seat changed my life forever.”

    “That’s right…a flying toilet seat.”

    2 Days Ago…

    “Bette, would you get your ass to that new job of yours? You’re going to be late!” Kit Porter strode angrily toward her little sister who, at 37, still fancied herself an up and coming artist—one who could not possibly work a sell-out, soul sucking job in some corporate run university.

    “I don’t feel good…” Bette reached forward, trying to pull her coffee cup away from Kit. She lurched off her chair as Kit tilted it from behind. “fine, dammit, I’m going!”

    The last words Kit Porter ever spoke to her sister, would come back to both women in dreams. They both wished they’d said something more.

    The early morning sun hit Bette like fire, burning through her dark suit jacket and knee length black skirt. “Dammit, god Dammit…” She mumbled and cursed to herself, stumbling slightly as she jammed her sunglasses over her eyes. The walk to work would be lengthy, but hopefully, if she were to be late, it would convince her new employer to let her go within the week.

    She was an artist, not a Dean, not ‘the man’. She had a soul, a heart—she had blood coursing through her veins. She had AMBITION.

    She had not held down a steady job, nor published, nor written, painted, recorded, or even said much of interest in years.

    The truth was, she needed this job.

    The truth was, that as of 12:14 pm on this sunny day, her shitty job would be the furthest thing from her mind.

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    Comments

    6. Getting yourself killed by a wayward Russian toilet seat is a totally interesting way to go. I do hope, at least, that the toilet seat was clean? One must maintain some dignity in these matters, after all. I await your next post, hb.

    7. I will NEVER forgive Showtime for cancelling Dead Like Me. As for your delightfully trippy version, I’m struggling a bit with alpha Bette’s transformation into a depressed slacker, but I can totally buy Helena as a drugged-out Brit and Tina as a self-absorbed Hollywood siren.

    9. Honest opinion, hb? I liked the summary better than the premise. While I have a certain affection for DEAD LIKE ME, it’s too passive. All that the regulars ever really do is give the touch of death. Otherwise they just observe the life (end stages) of the guest protagonists and use it as a basis to ruminate about their own lives (past) and relationships (some still ongoing). Give me that old time blood and guts mayhem of Planet Terror. The sooner the better. And what about all those other stories you had going, damn it? I think I’ll have some red wine now.

    11. … well… this Bette doesn’t seem very alpha to me (and Georgie Lass certainly isn’t)…. but I love “Dead like me”… give it a try… on the funny side I hope ;-)

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