Leopoldine

This was an assignment that was meant to combine 3 elements from other stories I had previously written for the class: Leopoldine, the bus stop, and surgery.

She held her head up high, even though she didn’t know the city that well. The wind shuffled some paper on the street and some leaves in the trees, and it only slightly shook her spirit, though not her body. Some man was giving her the eyes. He must have a taste for European girls, she thought. She wasn’t the least bit surprised. There seemed to be a severe lacking of them around here. She decided to ignore him and stared instead at the emotionless sculpture across the street. It was very specious, it caught your eye with its glittering bronze but disappointed with it’s content: a bunch of kids holding hands around a globe. Anyone could have come up with it. The Americans rarely ever found beauty in the quaint little things that the French did. They always had to go big and bold, but instead of it being a declaration of confidence, it was more of an over-compensation.

Out of the most desolate corner of her view, Leopoldine saw the man start to approach her. She still refused to look at him, and impatiently drew her jacket closer around her and bounced a little in her shoes, even though she was not cold. He was all smiles, instantly creeping Leopoldine out.

“Where are you headed?” He asked, trying to be casual. He was older than she, probably mid 40’s. His hair was thinning and he was a little chubby. He had a demeanor of being friendly, but Leopoldine suspected that he wasn’t.

“Home.” She said. She tried to limit the amount of time she looked at him.

“Where’s that?” he asked.

Leopoldine finally turned to him to face him head-on. “I don’t know you. Why would I tell you where I live?” Her accent started to poke through, despite her trying to hide it. This seemed to beguile the man even more.

“I was just trying to start some conversation.” He said, holding his hands up defensively. Leopoldine noticed that he had a wedding band on his left hand. It looked like it was cutting off circulation to his finger.

“I’m not interested.” She said, thinking that rudeness was the only way that this guy would get off of her back.

He seemed only momentarily set back though, laughing uncomfortably, “Alright, alright, let’s start over then. I’m Marcus, and you are…”

“Anne” she said, thinking of the plainest name she could think of.

“See? That wasn’t so hard. What are you doing here Anne? This isn’t exactly tourist territory.”

“Visiting ze hospital.” She said, immediately regretful that her accent had slipped so much. The man seemed turned-on by it. Cautiously she adjusted the gloves on her hands and peered over his shoulder to see if the bus was coming.

“You can’t escape me that quickly,” he said, perhaps intending it to be a joke, although Leopoldine didn’t take it that way, “What were you doing at the hospital? Visiting someone?”
“My boyfriend.” She said, thinking she should’ve said, “my big, black, American gangster boyfriend.” It wouldn’t have helped, he saw through her lie.

He grabbed her arm. The one that she had just had looked at. “Well would your boyfriend mind if we grabbed some coffee together?”

“Yes, very much.” She said, thinking she should’ve said, “His gang will come ‘f**k you up’ as ze kids say.” Instead, she tried to pull her arm away. He gripped harder.

“Come on,” he said, “Such a rude French girl like you wouldn’t turn down free food would you?” Leopoldine struggled. She lifted up her leg to kick his shin, but he used the opportunity to knock her over. No one was watching. Leopoldine suddenly felt sick to her stomach as the man started to pull her away into an alleyway. He was a lot stronger than she had guessed, and she flailed and kicked, and tried to scream but he started choking her, lifting her off the ground. Her vision started to blur, and her body convulsed from lack of oxygen. Suddenly, she felt the panic leave her, and rationality creep in like a moment of clarity. She pretended to pass out and he dropped her, she was careful to crumple down on the floor, making sure to fall on her right side, and keep her left arm from hitting the cement. She heard the zipping of his pants, and he started to bend down to move her on her back. She smelled his breath on her face, the steak he had for lunch, his wife’s lipstick mingling with his saliva. He fumbled with the button on her jeans, breathing getting heavier and louder. She opened one eye slightly, and saw his big, ape-like hands start to pull down her zipper. She knew that this had to be one swift movement. She had to act fast. She carefully reached her right hand over to her left and took off the glove. The metal glittered like the bronze statue that was going to passively watch as this guy tried to rape her. She balled it into a fist. And landed it straight on his cheek. Startled, he fell to the ground, she didn’t feel a thing. She used her prosthetic hand to pull her zipper back up and spat on his face. She suddenly felt empowered. She got down on his level and started pounding his face in.

“EXPAIN THAT TO YOUR WIFE!!!!!!!” she screamed at him. He started whimpering and crying. The bus pulled up outside of the alleyway. Leopoldine got up, straightened out her jacket, and ran over to flag it down.

Reviews

[E.H. Monroe]

“The Americans rarely ever found beauty in the quaint little things that the French did. They always had to go big and bold, but instead of it being a declaration of confidence, it was more of an over-compensation.” F*****g A right. You know what we do best. Big f*****g chunks of mediocre s**t. Who wants just a toy store when we can make the biggest one on the planet? F*****g amateurs.

“It looked like it was cutting off circulation to his finger.” This is one of the reasons why your writing is intoxicating. Yes it’s a simple line, but the characterization one can go into just from THIS is huge. Married too long, gained a little too much weight and now, may slaughter this girl.

“My boyfriend.” She said, thinking she should’ve said, “my big, black, American gangster boyfriend.” It wouldn’t have helped, he saw through her lie. “-huge laugh here. The age ol excuse to let someone back off.

“She smelled his breath on her face, the steak he had for lunch, his wife’s lipstick mingling with his saliva.”-f*****g brilliant

And as I read, yup, the characterization was accurate. Like your St. Christopher medal you have the knack of hiding little things in the story that tell more description than 100 words could.
A prosthetic arm? Talk about a twist. That was some super hero s**t right there and an excellent way to remind some s**t eating rapists that they may, in fact, run into the bionic woman.
Another winner

[Arsenic Nemesis]

This is brilliant, mortal. Very well written and presented, a good short story here, I'm glad that she was able to defend herself from that creep. Great job, keep up the good work!~