by Aurora Gory Alice

Created on: August 12, 2010

The rain fell gently and oh-so wetly on the too-thin, too-tan, white t-shirt-clad bikini models.  They danced provocatively in front of an inflatable pool, working the crowd.  Inside the inflatable pool was a half-inch of olive oil.  Velaska noticed that it was extra-virgin and hoped it was a deliberate attempt to offset what she guessed was a horrible virgin deficiency amongst the participants and observers.  More than likely though, it was just the result of Costco’s selective stocking.

Every year at the edge of Velaska’s town, The War at Four Corners took place.  Four distinctly different populations gathered for a day of festive battling.  It was one single day of simultaneously appreciating and exacerbating the differences between them.  The games were the perfect way to lovingly hate on one another with fun-loving brutality.  And, now, it was finally Velaska’s turn to pin a Barbie to the slippery plastic.  The only hope for her vain victim was that her fake breasts would puncture or tear the pool, possibly converting the manufactured prison into a slip-and-slide escape.

Velaska removed her boots and socks and then dropped her jeans.  As she worked her wet, black tee shirt off over her thick ponytail she felt the eyeballs on her.  Eyeballs were fine by her.  Hands were another story.  She looked down to see herself in the grass the way she normally only saw herself in the bath: wet and practically naked.  Her tattoo sleeves, one on her arm and one on her lower leg, seemed to posses a radioactive glow beneath the strangely yellow sky. 

“Perfect,” she thought.

From among the group of “Girls Gone Wild” her competition emerged.  The sea of blonde girls parted to make way for her, their representative.  She sauntered in silent, slow motion.  As if on queue, a wind blew that seemed destined only for this rockabilly queen.  She straddled the pool and beckoned for Velaska.

The band started to play again.  Velaska hadn’t noticed that they had stopped until then.  “Fever” by Peggy Lee, and it was good.

“Too perfect,” Velaska said out loud as she started for the pool.

As the oil enveloped her foot, she suddenly felt far less town patriotism.

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