Short Story: The Bankers Box

Once upon a time in a land as hot as the fiery pits of hell, with cockroaches (waterbugs) the size of kittens, lived a little black girl. Her height, just short of the model cut off, build slight, with an ever lingering pouch around her midsection, a place to hold her stress, and hair locked as a symbol of her freedom from the chemical lie. This little black girl had escaped to the pits of hell, running from a trap that placed her so tightly in a box that she’d just about forgotten how tall she really stood. The little black girl was looking for a way out, to a place far away from the box, a place that at that time would be, just had to be, better than the cramped bankers box she had been residing in. She craved excitement, invigorating adventures, reckless abandonment and maybe a little something to appeal to her darker yearnings. What better place than hell? She had heard rent was cheaper down there, and everyone was the complexion of the sugary sweetness found in a Russell Stover’s chocolate candy box. Yes this was the place for her, hot and heavy and oh so different from where she had been. She broke out of her box, leaving no forwarding address, informing no one, and burned up the road to her next destination…
To be continued in: The Land of Hot and Heavy