By Lizzie Arroyo, TIWP Student
Trying to exterminate all Barbie dolls is a good motive, but it’s still murder. I mean, I get it, those dolls are goddamn creepy. Grinning at you with those blinding white teeth and hollow eyes. You could be ritually sacrificed with a machete in front of them and they’d still be smiling—which is exactly what’s going to happen to me if the creep stalking us gets his way. I don’t think he’s part of the Cult, because he’s been following my tennis team all alone for a few hours now. I just take a quick check of my purse to make sure I’ve got everything: mini Vaseline, red wallet, bus card, taser. One tug on the whistle around my neck, then I can grab my racket and follow the rest of the girls. It might seem a little inconvenient to have to check all this every time I go anywhere, but I don’t mind much.
See, I believe there’s someone sitting up in the clouds that doles out everyone’s share of bad luck before they’re born. Like, “You get 10 years in a shitty desk job” and “You get to break your heart 17 times in a row” and “You get social anxiety plus four years in an American high school. ‘Nuff said.” And my share of bad luck happened to be “You get to be the Universal Sacrifice, and your death can get rid of absolutely anything that exists. Have fun!” And this latest creep wants to cleanse the world of Barbie dolls. I’d rank it as one of the better motives I’ve heard over the years, but I’m still not going to die for it.
Barbie-creep starts walking faster, so I hand a prepared note to a passing instructor and watch him out of the corner of my eye. I have a feeling he’s going to try and grab me right here, because he’s got the doll in his hand. Good thing I wrote that note asking to call security just now. I probably shouldn’t even have made them go through the trouble. I mean, a stranger unrelated to anyone on the team following a bunch of high school girls and taking pictures of them? Could you be anymore obvious? I should have waited till one of the other girls got bothered.
A security guard named Frank ducks under the doorway of the office and starts walking over to the Barbie-creep. And then my would-be killer screams “Death to all Barbie!” and lunges at me with his arms out like he has time to strangle me before Frank breaks his ribs. Trust me, he doesn’t.
I’m a little worried about how close the other girls are, so I step off to the side before pulling out my taser. I aim for his chest and pull the trigger as soon as he’s in range. The twitching and collapsing to the ground is really satisfying, as always.
As Frank arrives, I grin down at the creep and say, “Taser, bitch.”