Dottie and Bree: Episode 8- Satan's Spawn

Dottie and Bree: Episode 8

The soaring red beasts chittered and screamed high pitched bat like noises approaching the Mustang with devious swoops and dives. They were playing with mice, but didn’t understand the desperation and will within their prey. Dottie was unaware of the danger, engrossed in her nacho cheese, licking the spicy goodness from her fingertips. “That might have been the best batch ever. I could bathe in Nacho cheese.”

“You did that once, for money, but you weren’t bathing, you were wrestling with a midget.” It was difficult to speak with her bulbous bull tongue filling her mouth and newly squared flat teeth, but the words warbled out coherently. Dottie didn’t notice her changed form and continued babbling joyously on; she was beyond drunk, as was her preferred state.

“Little person, Bree. They like to be called little people, you bigot whore, and I’d do it again, for free.” She shook her darling head and laughed; she was having fun.

Bree was not having a good time.

She continuously tried distracting Dottie from the Hell Spawn multiplying above; it wasn’t difficult when she was swaying and singing loudly to “Don’t Stop Believin’”.
“What’s the first thing you’re going to do in Mexico?” Bree closed the convertible’s top and attempted to stay calm. She didn’t want to arouse suspicion, but the creatures were growing louder and closer by the second.

“Churros.” Bouncing, she held her hands in her lap and shrugged her shoulders forward with glee smiling and grinning with sparking teeth and squenched nose. When Dottie was happy, she resembled an innocent six year old: beautiful and pure, dripping with unadulterated joy. Bree lived for these moments; they usually happened after whisky number seven.

“I want crispy, sweet, fresh Churros. Thirty-three of them. I’m going to scald my mouth when they come out of that vat of oil on the street and remove my shoes and stand in the dust in the middle of the town and kick my feet and dance. I’m doing the churro dance.” Dottie loved food, when she actually ate it. She was coked up most of the time, and her tiny tummy would be able to hold two churros max. She wiggled toes and danced wildly in her seat flailing arms out the window.

Bree checked her mirrors and looked quickly behind her,” Let’s not act too animated, huh? Don’t want to attract attention”, Bree nervously chided, fearing the winged beast’s imminent attack; she didn’t want Dottie to lose an arm or a fingernail or an eye to the Devil’s minions or to her own horns growing and protruding from her head. The transformation was complete, and she was ready for battle.

Bree turned off the headlights, opened the convertible’s top, slammed both hooves on the brakes and flew from the stopped car onto the dark highway on all fours. She stamped and scraped the roadway menacingly, lowered her horns and prepared for the onslaught of death and destruction. She would defend Dottie at the cost of her own life, again.