Karma is Electric – Ch1 (Violent story w/rough language)

I, Pennelope Redlin, killed a man.

It wasn’t on purpose but I wish that it had been. That I could have made it last. A slow, lingering, painful death.

The actions leading to his death were his own. I had no part in them. Bo Parsons decided to put on his new bling. He swaggered in ridiculous wanna-be gang member fashion down to Harry’s Dive bar all by his lonesome and got shit faced.

All I did was go about my business like every other Tuesday night. Heading home from my underpaid waitressing job at Sunnyday Pizza. It was freezing cold so I hunkered down in my coat, eyes glued to the concrete. In retrospect, I knew that it was stupid. Every rape avoidance pamphlet ever written says, “keep aware of your surroundings”. But you get into your routine, and it was damn cold. So I went along, head burrowed in my collar. Until an arm reached from the darkness of the alleyway to my right.

His hand lands on my shoulder with a bone crushing grip and pulls me into him. An awful mix of Drachar, beer, and body odor hit me first. His balled fist hits me second. A thump to the back of my scull, followed by him pulling a generous handful of my brown curls.

I fight. Even when he slurs a promise not to beat me to death if I’m nice, I fight. But I know it’s slim to none that I will be able to free myself from his crushing hold. I try screaming but the area is mostly business’s that are closed and late night strollers are smartly at home, out of the cold. No one hears, or if they do, they do nothing about it. It’s abhorrent to me that it may be the truth. Either way, no one comes.

There is only one way that I am going to get out of the situation unharmed. Well, not seriously harmed anyway. The taser in my purse. A gift from my last ex. He was a police officer and knew what the neighborhood I live in was like. Shitty and dangerous. He wanted to get me a gun, but I refused. Me and my stupid, girly fears. At that moment I would have loved a gun. Yay guns!

My purse is still dangling from my left arm and when he relaxes his hold on my hair to bend me over a rusted commercial sized air conditioner, I frantically try to pull my bag closer so that I can reach in for the weapon. One of its straps catch on a pipe jutting out of the air conditioner. I pull until I am sure the strap will snap, but nothing gives.

“You got a nice big ass. I like that.” he slurs creepily into my ear and then laughs hysterically before rapping “I like big butt’s and I can not lie!”

“Are you fucking serious!” I scream as tears run down my face.

He stops his cackling and smacks the back of my head once more. I don’t know if it’s a lucky shot for him or just a majorly unlucky one for me, but he gets me in the exact same spot. Blackness begins to creep into the edges of my vision. I steel myself against passing out, knowing that the fight would be over then. I’m not a woman who gives up so easily.

“Keep your mouth shut, Bitch. Or I’ll shove my cock down your throat. Shut it for you. Mmm, good idea.” He chuckles gravely and pulls me away from the AC unit to force my knees into the snow covered pavement.

I quickly memorize what I can of his features. He is white and in his twenties. His wide bulbous nose, leans to the left. Small mole on his chin. Brown hair.

There is no need to undo his pants because they already hang to his upper thigh. Thanks to gangster chic, all there is between me and his dirty dick is a pair of black boxers. He smiles crookedly as he withdrawals his mediocre member like I am meant to be impressed. Stroking himself a couple times, he then shoves it towards my face.

Now, what I will never forget. Not for the rest of my life, is the gloriously horrified look on his face as it changes from smug satisfaction to pain stricken terror.

He made a mistake, pulling me to my knees. My hands were free to roam the depths of my purse. Finally coming up with the prize.

I smile with wicked joy as I force that stun gun into his balls and pull the trigger. It pops and clicks while he grunts and writhes on the concrete in front of me. I let off when he begins pissing himself. I think that he might run away or just continue to cradle his nuts there on the ground, but the asshole makes his next and last stupid decision. He lurches at me again. I taser his chest this time and keep the juice going until he stops twitching. The silence in the alley is deafening, and I need to escape. Back to real life. Not this bizarro world where I am almost raped and murdered by some sleazy asshole in a back alley.

I calmly collect my hairbrush, lip gloss, and the couple of receipts that have fallen out of my purse. All the while watching the man for any signs of movement. I keep expecting him to stir and come after me.

After a minute of watching him I realize that his puffy down jacket isn’t moving. He isn’t breathing. I calmly check his pulse and leave the scene of his crime. That asshole is dead and I am satisfied that I won’t have to worry every night that I may run into him. Happy that he won’t be hurting anyone else.

I only know my almost rapist’s name because I inadvertently spotted the story in my morning newspaper at Cup O’ Joe’s. My favorite hangout in Talula. Awesome coffee and flaky pastries for dirt cheap prices. My Job doesn’t bring in Starbucks money.

Working at the local pizza parlor was not in my original life plan. I was once an aspiring country star but the record labels didn’t come calling. I found myself homeless, starving, and it made for a great country song, but a shitty life. And now due to a bad economy, my vagabond ways and lack of gainful employment history, I work at a hole in the wall pizza parlor. The studio apartment I rent is the size of most people’s closets.

The newspaper story doesn’t mention that Bo had been tased or that he died with his withered dick in the wind. No they are too tasteful for the details. Saying only that the body of local small-time criminal, Bo Parsons was found sometime after a violent altercation. He had been removed from a local bar around ten p.m. and was discovered early this morning in a nearby alley. Information pending with further investigation.

That scares me a little. I relax again when I realize that even if they found out who I am, there is little chance that they would convict me of any crime. I did nothing wrong except run off after the fact. But who could blame me. Scared little old me. I didn’t know what to do. I was traumatized… Only I wasn’t. I am awake. Finally aware of the evil brewing in the community around me. It is like an epidemic spreading through greed and poverty. With the innocent caught in the cross fire.

More to come…..



  1. I like your ability to include humour in the most harrowing of scenes (yay guns)
    After recent tribulations it was good to see a name in the first three words 😉
    Depending on what forensics come up with I guess PR (great choice of initials) would have little to worry about as you pointed out so well. Cracking opener to the series, Kira 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s