Travis Dead Cow

By R. E. Wilson

Brenda Askins was an ordinary actress with ordinary dreams until she found herself in a strange mans home in the middle of nowhere. She knows she needs to go home but she has fallen in love with the mysterious man. His rough words drive her away but his perfect body keeps her near. Can Brenda escape or will she be forced to marry him and become Mrs. Dead Cow for the rest of her life?

Travis Dead Cow had never met a more conceited and self centered woman until Carryann showed up, unconscious and half frozen from a Missouri snow storm. What was supposed to be a few days of recovery quickly turn into a game of revenge when he decides to kidnap her. He must act quickly to keep her silent before she discovers who she really is.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499084979

Book preview

Chapter 1

"Brenda Askins, famous movie star, performs in this year’s best-selling movie, How to Deal. Her movie, nominated for best film of the year, is hotter than Richard Simmons’s Sweatin’ to the Oldies videos. Critics say it is a must-see movie. Brenda Askins plays the roll of Brenadad Porter, a daughter of a millionaire who catches her boyfriend cheating on her with another girl. In an attempt to get even, Brenadad murders her boyfriend. Suspected by the police, she subdues them and murders them, along with their families, leaving no traces to herself. Brenadad (Askins) shows her friends how to ‘deal’ with the troubles of being accused and how to get out of murder. It is a movie no one must miss."

That was the article on the front page of every newspaper printed in New York in the early winter of ’96. Brenda had just bought one as she walked to her favorite hang out spot, Starbucks Coffee Shoppe two blocks away from the photo shoot. She was on her way there for a special celebratory meeting with the cast of her new and hottest movie. Her velvet red stiletto’s clack-clacked on the sidewalk as she caught the attention of every man on the busy streets of New York City. She flipped her short, curly blond hair and smiled, revealing her perfectly straight, bleach-white teeth. It was an overcast, windy day, but it was still warm enough for some people to leave their jackets at home. The people of New York walked around in business suits, hugging their briefcases close to their bodies as if they were afraid of being mugged on every street corner. The homeless were occasionally thrown into the mix as they strolled aimlessly down the street, begging change and food from the business men and women. Most homeless minded their own business, accepting their fate as the outcasts of society. Brenda was like a flame in the middle of the night as she stood at the corner of a busy street amongst lawyers and secretaries, waiting for the cross walk sign to change. Their traditional drab black and grey suits stood in stark contrast to her red dress, making her feel like royalty. A homeless man sat on the corner of the street near Brenda, reciting poems from memory and occasionally playing a song on his rusted harmonica. It was customary for the people of New York to ignore such disturbances, but Brenda wasn’t able to ignore this man for a peculiar reason that she couldn’t place her finger on.

La Belle Dame sans Merci, by John Keats, the man began. Brenda knew the poem well. She had heard it in High Schoo4l during a poem-reciting contest her friend was in. It was about a knight who met a fairy girl in the woods and fell in love with her. She did not speak his language, but the knight believed she was expressing her undying love for him. She brought him back to her home in a cave and lulled him to sleep. He dreamt of a cold hill side where kings and princes wandered, pale and alone, all of them crying the same thing, the lovely lady without pity has you captured! When the man awoke, he found, not his lovely fairy lady, but the same cold hillside where he, too, had become one of the Dame’s victims. The light changed and horns honked at the people who started to walk across the street. Brenda lingered behind the group, listening to the man recite the poem perfectly and with so much emotion that one would think that he was the knight in the poem. He looked directly at Brenda as he cried out, She is the lovely lady without pity! Brenda felt that the man was talking about her and she shuddered involuntarily. A woman in a black business suit bumped into Brenda, sending her tripping into the street with the rest of the walking mass of people.

She was still thinking of the poem when she opened the door to Starbucks and found a booth where the other actors and actresses were already sitting, sipping their coffee and laughing heartily. Brenda slid in the seat next to Amy Megs, an actress who played Brenda’s character’s right hand woman in crime, and tapped her newly manicured blood-red fingernails on the tabletop. Brenda pulled off her thin nine hundred-dollar overcoat, revealing her red satin, knee-length dress with its plunging neckline that revealed her finely shaped chest, and pinched waist to accentuate her mannequin-like figure. It matched her shoes and her blood-red lips perfectly. A waitress greeted her enthusiastically, pen and paper in hand.

May I take your order, Ms. Askins? she asked, her eyes glowing in reverence at serving a famous celebrity.

Brenda waved the woman off but changed her mind a second later. Give me my usual, she demanded.

We were just talking about how well the movie went, Amy informed Brenda quietly as a Latte arrived.

Amy was a beautiful, petite woman with rich, dark brown hair and hazel eyes. She had played small roles in all of Brenda’s movies. She practically worshiped Brenda. Austin was her charming boyfriend. He was a fine man on stage and, as Brenda knew from experience, an even better man in bed. Grant had always had an eye for décor and looked every bit like he was meant to be a woman with his feather-blond hair and small shoulders. He had designed most of the movie props that Brenda habitually acted with. Brenda was unsure of his relationship with Genevieve, an ex-acrobat turned actress. Brenda was sure, however that the woman’s natural red hair matched her fiery temper. The only person at the table that Brenda had much of anything to do with was Richard; tall, suave, sexy Richard with his gray eyes and overflowing bank account. He was mistaken frequently for a young Alec Baldwin so he would occasionally pretend to be, just for kicks.

Good. We all know that I am the reason the movie is so hot and producers everywhere are talking about it. It’s not like any of you did anything to make the movie such a success. Especially since we all know that it’s my picture that’s on the front cover of every newspaper from New York to New Finland, Brenda answered loudly so everyone in the Shoppe could hear her.

Austin rolled his eyes and said, "It may be your picture on the cover, but we all had a part in it. You can’t possibly believe that the whole world revolves around you. There’s bound to be someone in this world who hates you or has no idea of who you are."

The small group of five laughed at Brenda as she scoffed at the idea. They all knew from experience that the only person Brenda cared about was herself. She personally saw to it that Amy’s role in the movie was cut so that Brenda would have the limelight. It was enough to make anyone sick.

I’ll have you know that without me, no movie would be successful, Brenda defended.

Brenda, Genevieve began, don’t you think you are just a little too absorbed in yourself? I mean, there’s got to be someone you care about more.

Anderson, listen closely to me, Brenda growled, using her last name and leaning closer to her from across the table for emphasis. You play the roles of snooty, petty girls in the background scenes. That is because you aren’t good enough to have a lead role like me. You are a nothing and a nobody, and no one cares about you enough to give you a decent role. Just quit acting while you’re still behind.

You don’t know what you’re talking about you stuck-up snob! Genevieve yelled back.

I love her! Grant added. "I love her and she is not a nobody. And you know what else? No one loves you! No one would care if you disappeared."

Brenda sat silently for a moment. She couldn’t think of a comeback. Grant got up and, taking Genevieve’s hand, walked out of the Shoppe. Richard got out of the other booth and scooted next to Brenda, squashing Amy in the corner.

Brenda, look, he started as he ran his fingers through her hair, Genevieve is just jealous of you. That’s why she gets so angry when you simply explain the truth to her. No one could be as pretty and talented as you are.

Brenda rubbed her cheek against Richard’s hand and smiled. Her big, blue eyes sparkled and filled with tears. Amy rolled her eyes, ducked under the table and came up next to Austin.

That’s disgusting. She whispered to Austin.

What? How much Richard lies to her just to get in her pants, or how she falls for it all because she has no friends and her family can’t stand her? Austin whispered back.

Both. It’s disgusting. I wish something bad would happen to her so she would understand just how cruel and hurtful she really is. Amy scowled as tears rolled down her cheeks.

Austin wiped them away and hugged her tightly. I hope someday she realizes how she treats others. But for now, you just have to put up with the awful way she treats you so you can stay in the movie.

Save the crocodile tears for someone who cares, Brenda sneered, tossing her hair back and raising her chin in the air. Austin, I know you cheat on me with her in the movie, but not here. I know you really hate her deep down. Brenda said to Austin about Amy. Besides, doesn’t Amy know that you’re just with her to improve your own career? Brenda leaned forward on the table, showing off her cleavage to an almost too willing Austin. Her voice dropped almost secretively but still loud enough for Amy to hear. "Do you remember those five wild and passionate hours we spent together behind the sets? We could really pull that off on screen, you and me. But Amy just lacks creativity and just isn’t that fun."

Amy squinted at Brenda in anger and she stood up to leave. Oh come off your high horse, Brenda. I can’t stand you! Amy screamed, suddenly losing control and oblivious to the scene she was creating in the coffee Shoppe. I hate you! I hate how you think I am your friend because I’m not. I hate how you treat me with such disrespect. I hate how you only think of yourself and you put others down. I hate how you treat my friends because I care about them. We are all sick and tired of you. We don’t like you and we never have. I hate… Amy wiped the tears away, but they came back in a steady stream.

Austin reached up and held her hand for support. She looked at him, her vision blurred, and continued. I hate how you tell me no one loves me and you hang all over Austin. I’ve tried to be calm about it, but not any longer. You want us to hate each other because you want to be with him. You never will be because we are engaged! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! Amy cried and ran out of the building.

Brenda stared at Austin and he stared back at her for a brief moment before sighing and following after Amy. Brenda grabbed his arm to stop him.

Is it all true? What she said? You are engaged?

Yes. It would also be true to say that none of us like you including Richard. He’s just pretending to be your friend because he lost a bet against us. Austin answered then left before Brenda could ask anything else.

Brenda stared at Richard with hatred. It was a bet? Just some bet? Is that what I am to you? Well, then we are through! I never liked you anyway.

Richard tried to stop her, exclaiming that while it may have started out as a bet, he really did like her but she had stopped listening. Her coffee was ruined now. Brenda picked up her paper and her coat, and pushed Richard out of the booth. He fell to the floor in shock; still digesting the whole scene as Brenda stepped over him and walked briskly out of the Shoppe. She would have run, but her shoes were giving her blisters. Everyone in the Shoppe stared at Brenda as she left, having overheard the whole thing. She ignored their eyes and looked straight ahead. She was too confused to think straight and too stubborn to care. She had been embarrassed before but never as badly as this. She was a movie star now and couldn’t afford to have her image ruined by Amy and her melodramatics, or Genevieve and her overreacting, and not even Austin or Grant or Richard or any other worthless man. She would do all she could to repair her injured façade so she could focus again on the role she was recently casted to play and her public’s opinion of her. Richard could forget boosting his career by trying to pair up with her. She knew that’s why he hung around even when she didn’t want him there. She looked back once at the ruined coffee date and at Richard but he just shook his head, sat back at the table, and read the sports section of the newspaper he had brought with him.

Back at her apartment, Brenda tore off her shoes and her dress and put on a pair of black sweats and an oversized tee shirt. She sat down on her oval-shaped chair in front of her window and thought. The view was magnificent. It showed the whole city of New York with all of its lights and splendor. She thought about her role in the movie and about what Amy and Austin had said. Was it true? Did no one like her? What was she going to do? She had another leading role coming up tomorrow in another movie, a sequel to the one that had just come out, and she was too unfocused and out of her mind to function correctly. She turned on the television and sat watching it from the early show till the late-late show. She was supposed to go to her exercise classes, but she was too miserable to go or to call and cancel the appointment. She pulled up a table and ate Chinese take-out, a carton of ice cream, a can of whipped cream, a cheese cake, and three extra large bags of nacho cheese Doritos. Later, she called for a giant pepperoni pizza and a gallon of beer and spent the rest of the night staring aimlessly out her window and thinking through what Amy had said.

The next morning, she woke in the chair with the television on and drool trailing across her cheek. Garbage from what she had eaten the day before lay all around the room and crumbs lay in the chair and on her face. She smelled awful, her red satin dress was stained, and she looked like she had been living on the streets for months. She was supposed to have gone to her Pilate’s appointment that morning but she had missed it hours ago. She felt too sick to go to the movie rehearsal she had that afternoon, but she decided to go anyway. She knew that to go and then throw up on the set was far better than not showing up at all, especially in this business. She got in her car without showering, combing her hair, putting on deodorant, or changing her clothes. She didn’t even brush her teeth. Her hair hung in tangled lumps and her clothes had food stains on it, but he didn’t care. Usually she would spend meticulous hours every morning prepping herself for the public eye but today she was still bothered by Amy’s words and the coffee catastrophe to care what she looked like. She pulled into a drive through for Crispy Cream doughnuts and bought a dozen. When she arrived at the shooting station for the movie, she had already devoured all of the doughnuts and a double chocolate milkshake.

Amy, Austin, Genevieve, Richard, and Grant were already there, in their costumes and filming. Brenda sat on the ground, watching them perform for the camera with sad eyes. Noticing her for the first time, Richard came over and talked to Brenda. He refused to come much closer than a within a few feet of her, the smell of her too strong for him to handle. He squatted nearby and told her how the director lost his mind when he couldn’t get a hold of Brenda and how he had threatened everyone with extra work hours without pay. He had screamed that Brenda was a Prima donna and would ruin his entire film with her emotional antics. Amy wouldn’t so much as look at Brenda and Austin kept giving her the cold shoulder. Grant walked over and talked to her briefly, only to ask her to leave Genevieve alone. The director pulled her aside to talk to her after filming a climactic scene with Richard and Genevieve.

Brenda, darling, what has happened to you? The director, Mr. M. Bezzle demanded.

Sir, Mr. Bezzle, I was hungry and I woke up late. Brenda answered, standing up to face him.

What is that stink? Mr. M. Bezzle yelled, holding his nose and backing away. Brenda, you didn’t shower today? I’m guessing you didn’t dress up or brush your teeth either. And you have gained weight! What have you been eating?

Brenda described yesterday’s activities to him and how she had eaten all of the doughnuts and a milkshake that morning. The director shook his head in disbelief and anger. He walked off the set to collect himself, shoving his camera crew out of his way and cussing anyone who crossed his path. Once he had got himself together, he came back to finish talking with her.

Brenda, he began, It looks as though you have a food problem. I don’t know what to do with you. I cannot put you in my film since you have gained so much weight. Go visit your mother and have a talk with her. Take a vacation from acting for a while. When you are ready and you have come to your senses, come back. We will gladly welcome you if you have lost the weight that you have so selfishly gained. Get your head checked out. You will never work for me again if you can’t think of how hard everyone else works to make you look good and if you continue to decide to indulge yourself with fatty cakes. Go home to your mother. Maybe she will know what to do with you because you will never get another decent acting job with how fat you’ve become.

Mr. Bezzle walked away and barked directions at everyone to began to shoot his film again, leaving Brenda alone on the sidelines of the set and shaken up like the milkshake she had drunk. She took a few doughnuts from a snack table with her for the road and drove to other movie directors she knew in the area.

She found a bathroom where she cleaned herself up as best as she could before meeting with the other directors. By the time she was in their offices, they had already heard that she had been fired from Mr. M. Bezzle’s movie and was ‘unfit’ for acting due to ‘excessive weight gain that would prove harmful to the actress’s mental and physical state of being preventing her from properly performing her duties on any set.’ She had spent the rest of the day trying to persuade any director to take her on as their actress but they didn’t need her, they had all the actors they needed and wanted. She begged, she pleaded, she tried to perform skits for them, and she even bribed them with money. But it was futile. News had already spread that she was an emotional and physical wreck, too far gone to be of any use to anyone in the acting business. Even if she had lost the weight, she had already lost her career, her fans, her movie, her respect for herself. Even if she had showed up dressed up well like she usually was and sweetly talked to everyone, she still would have gotten fired. She was too demanding on the sets she was told. She was irrational and difficult to work with. She refused to work with others if her face wasn’t the lead role. She harassed the camera crew and her coworkers. Her career might have been salvaged if she had maintained her weight and her appearance, but it would have been a temporary fix until the director found someone else to take her place a week later. She had seen it coming but hadn’t thought Mr. Bezzle would actually go through with cutting out his leading lady. Now she was out of a career she had painstakingly fought to make and out of friends she had thought she had. A very defeated Brenda drove home that night, confused, hurt, and unsure what to do with herself now. New York no longer held the same glamour and glow that it once had and she did not want to wake to see the same buildings she had known and loved when she had been an actress.

I’ll go see my Mom. She can help me. Brenda decided back in her apartment.

She changed into a nice, three hundred-dollar summer dress and had her bags carried to her Mustang. At least she got to keep the car and still had her money on her side. Before she knew it, she was out on the open road on her way to Idaho to see her mother.

Brenda had been driving for a long while, not really paying attention to where she was but more on autopilot than anything else. She was too distracted. It seemed like just two days ago she was popular, she was an actress, and she had everything money would buy her. She had just passed a sign indicating that she was in the outskirts of a tiny, meaningless hick town in Missouri when her car started to malfunction. Smoke rose from the engine in a slow grayish cloud and was lost in the lightly drifting snow beginning to fall. She pulled to the side of the road along a half-hidden dirt trail to avoid being spotted by crazy hick people who might try to harm her because she looked like a queen compared to these lowly people. She looked all around her, but she could only see open farmland for miles. Despite the increasing downfall of snow, she got out of her car and tried to wave down a passing car, but no one came down the road. She tried to use her cell phone but she had no reception. She thought of walking to the nearest town where one of the townspeople would be bound to recognize her and answer to her every beck and call just so they could spend one moment in the presence of a beautiful former actress. She had reasoned on her drive that she didn’t need acting. She was far too pretty for it and perhaps the reason she had been let go stemmed mostly from jealousy from the other actors. They probably made up horrible lies about her to Mr. Bezzle just so they could have the spotlight. They were all so selfish. Didn’t they know she was the star? Amy was right, she didn’t really have friends, but she wasn’t a nobody like Amy because she was the leading role, not a supporting role. She was the actress everyone wanted to meet, not Amy. Maybe a vacation from work was what she needed to calm her nerves from the stress of acting so she could get back into it and prove she was even better than the actress she was now. Perhaps she would even try to make a friend just to prove Amy wrong. Surely there was someone who would be her friend? She spent the night in her car, eating some of the food she had left on her dashboard from the last fast food place she had been at many hours ago. She curled up in a coat she found in her backseat and tried to sleep away the malevolent thoughts that chased her but she kept seeing images of dead kings roaming a cold, grey hillside and pointing at Brenda, calling her La Belle Dame Sans Merci. When she awoke the next morning from a fitful sleep, she was confronted with a world of white beyond her windshield. While she had slept, there had been a massive snowstorm, the first for the winter season and surely not the last. Scared and confused, she got out of her car and headed down the road, looking for a house to stay at, leaving her car and her belongings behind. She was tired of sleeping in her car and she had no food. She didn’t want to carry all of her things with her just to find a place to stay. When she got to one of these shabby country houses, she would demand the owners come back for her car and to rescue her belongings. She trudged on, wrapping the coat close to her for what little warmth it would offer her and using what little strength she had left. She felt frozen to the bone in her sundress. She guessed it wasn’t really the best wardrobe choice she’d made for the trip. Neither was it a smart choice to have only brought high heels because now they kept sinking in the snow and freezing Brenda’s feet. She had made it a mile from her car when a blizzard picked up, then she fainted and was left to freeze to death on the side of the road.

Chapter 2

He woke up that morning to find he had been snowed in. He didn’t mind it any. Snow came and snow melted. Rain came down and rain stopped. The sun came up and it went down. These were all things he couldn’t control. All that mattered to him was providing a way to still care for his animals and crops despite what Mother Nature brought his way. Light hadn’t even begun to filter into the kitchen windows when he sat down to breakfast. He was used to it. This was the life of a farmer and he was content with it. He stood from the table, avoiding kicking the hoe he used to support the area where a leg had fallen off of two years ago. He would fix that one day. Pieces of his home were falling apart gradually but it didn’t bother him any. After all, it was just his animals and him. He took his spare snow shovel that he used as a coat rack and began to shovel his way out of his house. After two hours and drenched in sweat, the farmer had made a path for himself through the snow. He crossed the fields and headed for his old, run-down barn. The roof was nearly gone from years of decay and misuse, the doors were rotted off the hinges, and the horse stalls were dirty and unkempt. The horses roamed freely over the countryside, eating oats and hay from the other farmers’ barns. He would fix that one day. He entered the old barn and inhaled the familiar scent of mildew and rotting hay even though there had been no hay in it for years. The paint was peeling badly, and the barn leaned to one side. It looked badly shaken by the weather and it showed signs of collapsing at any moment. He knew it needed repairs but he just hadn’t brought himself to fix it. After all, it was just his animals and him.

A small chicken yard sat a few yards from the barn and was in a condition that wasn’t too different from that of the barn. The roof was more intact than the barn, but there were holes dominating the poor, ramshackle thing. The chickens attacked the farmer’s feet as he grabbed their feed from the barn and threw it on the ground for them. He had a total of thirty chickens and knew each by name. They were his children, his companions. He picked up the smallest, an orange-colored one and nuzzled it with his finger. It squawked in excitement and pecked the farmer’s shirt. It was his favorite of the entire bunch. On rainy nights, he would bring it inside his home (although his home wasn’t much better than the chicken coop or the barn), and let it sleep in his dresser drawer. He set it down so it could eat, and then walked back to his home to get ready to leave for town. He had to pick up supplies for the horses and his dog and needed to get an early start if he was to be back in time for dinner.

He grabbed his best coat which was a ratty torn up mess of plaid, brushed his thick brown hair with his fingers, then grabbed his car keys and got into his beat up Chevy. He cranked up the radio as loud as it would go even though the radio reception was spotty at best. If he were lucky, he would at least hear parts of the song in between the static and the chunka-chunka-clank of the car engine. The cool air of early winter made him shiver and his lips turn blue, but there wasn’t much he could do about it because his heater didn’t work and his windows had been broken when he had tried to show off for a friend of his. He had been racing his friend in the yard and ran too fast to be able to stop in time to avoid a collision with his car. He had looked behind him to coax his friend to out run him when he tripped over a small orange chicken and fell, head first, into his car window. He still had a scar on top of his head from it.

He howled to Don’t Get around Much Anymore by Willy Nelson and tapped out a beat on the steering wheel. He was no singer in a rock band but at least he could carry some sort of a tune when it mattered. Most days it didn’t matter since he had been on his own on the farm for most of his life. There was no special girl to try to swoon with his singing, no close relatives, and no family members. And he was content with that. It was the life of a farmer. He had only gone about ten miles out when he passed by a red Mustang, trapped in the snow along the side of the road, almost invisible in the snow. He slowed down and looked for passengers. Not seeing any, he parked down the street a ways and came back to look. It wasn’t every day a Mustang was left abandoned in this area of town. The door was unlocked so he opened it. Inside, there were suitcases and boxes full of things. He wasn’t about to go through them in case it was a murder scene. The car was trashed with garbage from numerous fast food places and restaurants.

What a shame to trash such a nice car. He said out loud to himself with his head in the car and his fanny sticking out into the open.

He opened the glove compartment and found registration for the car, lipstick, insurance, and a license. On the license was a picture of a gorgeous blond-haired girl who looked about mid-twenties and boy did she look wealthy. She had candy apple red lips and was wearing a blue dress to match her dark blue eyes. He imagined she was the high maintenance sort and wouldn’t take lightly to his rummaging through her car. He took the contents of the glove compartment and put them in the pocket of his jeans. He brushed his hair out of his eyes and got out of the car. He stood tall, looking around to see if the owner was nearby. He fixed his blue plaid shirt and began to walk back to his car and drove on. It was unusual to find such a nice car abandoned here. And more unusual to find it was unlocked and full of expensive suit cases. He felt a little uneasy about the whole situation all of a sudden. Where was the owner of the car? Why abandon the car? And of all places, why was it here, in the middle of nowhere? A little further down, he spotted a large pile of snow on the side of the road. Ordinarily he would have ignored it since snow pile ups were common, but snow piles didn’t usually have floral print cloth in it. He immediately stopped the car and ran across the street to the pile. Clearing the snow away, he saw that it had covered a nearly-frozen, petite woman who looked remarkably similar to the woman in the driver’s license photo. He called to her but there was no response. He touched the skin on part of her exposed arms and jerked his hand away at the coldness of her skin. He wasn’t sure if she was still alive or not and he did not know how long she had been outside like this. If it was a mere few hours she would probably survive but if it had been days or weeks…..she really could be dead. And he would be responsible since her car was on part of his property and he had found her. The police would think he did this to the poor girl and he was too much of a recluse for anyone in town to want to side with him because they didn’t know him. He knelt down and put his ear close to her mouth to detect if she was still breathing. He could barely see the rise and fall of her chest and realized she was probably in shock and unconscious. He did the only thing he knew to do to save her life – he picked her up and placed her in the front seat of his car and sped back to his house.

When she awoke, she was lying beside a warm fire with several blankets wrapped around her. She breathed cautiously, not knowing where she was or how she got there. She surveyed the place curiously.

There was a large window to her right, covered by a moth-eaten blanket. A door on her left led to a kitchen that held a sink full of dirty dishes, a nasty brown floor, and a filthy table covered in rotten food. There was a small, dusty window in the kitchen with no curtains, allowing light to stream in and fall on her golden hair. She looked at the carpet underneath her and tried to guess if it had been tan at one point or if it had always been a dismal grey. She wanted to sit anywhere but on the threadbare carpet but what little furniture was in this room was in bad shape and unfit for temporary occupation. She spied a large recliner in the corner of