fair complexion

There once lived a woman with a fair complexion, with everything but perfection.  She was tall and thin with long dark hair that cascaded down to her waist. She went by the name of Jane, yet some still insisted on calling her by her high school name, “Janie Plainy.” She was now a mature adult, working a nightly shift at Bob’s Country Kitchen. Jane always feared walking down the alley from work, but she never dreamt that her own life could be taken in the depths of its concrete walls.  It was Friday, on a cold, wintery night. Jane brought in the plates and silver wear, and set them in the sink to be washed the next day. It was late, all her co- workers were gone and her boss had left her in charge of locking up. “I hate this!” she cried, slamming the back door shut. She hated it when everyone left her to take out the giant disgusting sack of trash. The only reason she ever did it is so they wouldn’t complain. It was at that time, when she approached the rumbling dumpster, that her worst nightmares would come true. She felt a light tap on her left shoulder, and then he appeared. To Jane’s shock it was Mr. Widower. Rumors had said that his wife had died of pneumonia at least ten years ago, while others said she just disappeared. It affected him so dramatically that he turned crazy, and started cursing everyone that stepped into his path. Something was different about him now. He had a slight smirk on his face and a glow in his eyes as he started walking towards her. Jane screamed with everything she had as he proceeded to attack her. He struck her lifeless, fragile body several times with a massive crow bar gripped tightly in his hands. Her brow dripped with blood and sweat as he dragged her by her hair back to his dark barren castle. When Jane finally awoke, she found herself locked behind the bars of a rusty dungeon door. She felt the wetness of the muddy floor underneath her, as she lay in a pool of her own blood. Even though she felt hopeless she was determined to never give up. There had to be an escape somehow or maybe in the depths of her imagination her prince charming would come to the rescue. Just as she started to think, the hinges of the large wooden door creaked, and in popped the head of the crazed widower. He pulled a shiny silver key from his trench coat and unlocked the claustrophobic cell. Handcuffed and beaten he led her up four flights of stairs until they arrived to another wooden door. This time he pulled out a small golden key and unlocked it. They came to the edge of a deep trench like pit that reeked of rotten fumes and sulfur. Her eyes widened to the horror of millions of slimy, white insect larvae with teeth like thousands of knives seeping beneath her. Was this the end? Was this how she was going to die? The truth was now revealed. With a cackling insane laugh he tossed her into the pit where she was eaten alive. No one ever knew what drove him to kill her, but people say he was satisfied to see her go. She will always and forever remain a constant memory in many people’s minds, as they continue to lay lovely colored roses at the foot of her grave.