There She Is…

There she is…

The music had already begun, even before she had wiped the blood from her blade. Her final foe, a red headed woman from some small town in Colorado, had put up a vicious fight. Her body lay crumpled in the muddy field, surrounding by footprints. Miss Runner-up would receive a fitting burial, and Sharon regarded her with due reverence.

Miss America…

The shoulder strap on her dress was torn, that had been Miss Florida’s doing. She’d leapt from a treetop and very nearly created a Sharon-ka-bob with a four-foot spear carved from an oak branch. Sharon had returned the challenge with a near-decapitation that left Miss Florida solidly out of the running. Sharon would never again complain about underwires.

There she is…

This would be the only competition for her. She had promised her family she would come home victorious and never abandon them again. The grueling 6 months of training had left her aching to hold her little girls and kiss her husband. Even now, as she stumbled, covered in mud and gore, to the podium, she could imagine the smell of their hair and the warm little hands that had barely reached her waist when she left.

Your ideal…

This was what she had dreamed of since she was a little girl. Not just the cash prize, but the chance to stand on that podium and hold her weapon aloft in victory. It made her heart swell at the thought and she moved a little faster. It was only 200 feet now.

The dream of a million girls…

Miss Washington, she regretted. They had been friends as children, and had shook hands before the competition began. I’m honored it was with you that I lost. Those had been her final, painful words, before Sharon had snapped her neck out of mercy. It had been a brutal fight, and she would forever bear the emotional wounds.

…who are more than pretty

That part of the song had always gotten to her as a little girl. What did pretty matter? At the end of the contest the winner was just as blood soaked, mud caked, and disheveled as the others. The only difference was she was alive.  She passed the corpses of Miss Tennessee and Miss Alabama, eternally locked in a brutal embrace, each having stabbed the other mortally. Sharon had known they would turn on each other instantly. They both had that same fake air of “nice” around them that had warned her away from trusting either. A few feet further was Miss Rhode Island. She’d been such a sweet girl.

…can come true…

Miss Rhode Island should never have come, she didn’t have it in her to kill. She’d needed the prize though. Many of the girls had tried to talk her into giving up her place but her child was sick. He would be taken care of now, but he had lost a mother. A few yards away Miss New York had a knife embedded in her skull. Closer inspection showed it had been Miss Rhode Island’s beautiful blue steel one. Perhaps they had all underestimated her love for her child. Sharon managed to free the knife and cleaned it, stowing it away. It was a beautiful knife.

…In the final forest…

At one point that lyric had been something else, but as the contest changed so had the locale. This forest would recover slowly as the bodies and weapons were removed, and be ready again in the next 5 years or so.

For she may turn out to be…

What would she be after this… could she go back to being a happy housewife? Would her neighbors look at her with fear? Nobody would ever hurt her daughters, that was good. She would have to look into the counseling they had spoken of before. She’d netted twelve kills, a respectable number, but every time she blinked their faces were in her eyes.

…the Queen of femininity…

She looked down at her missing shoe, and tattered dress. It had been such a pretty, simple affair, flared slightly at the hips with a subtle hint of black edging to make it pop. Perhaps she could find one like it afterwards, but Sharon wasn’t sure she could wear it again.

There she is, Miss America…

The podium… it was so close. Soon she would feel the weight of the tiara on her brow and her arms would fill with flowers. Then she would get cleaned up, sleep, and travel home tomorrow to rejoin society. They would probably hand her a novelty check but the money would be in her account before nightfall. Her family would be set for life, but maybe they would stay in their lovely home and keep their lovely life. Maybe they would just get a dog and never have any worries. Or a cat, she wouldn’t mind a cat if that’s what the girls wanted.

There she is, your ideal…

She hesitated. Was she an ideal? Was there anything about this that should be idealized? She had killed 12 women, dozens of women had gone at each other’s throats to win this competition. Still, maybe the will to survive and be stronger was the idea. It was how humanity had survived in the times of larger, meaner predators, and taken over the earth. She would tell herself this every night for a long time, until she could fall asleep without it. For now though, she started forward again.

With so many beauties…

Arguably Hawaii had been the prettiest, and the meanest. Sharon had nearly lost to her right away, and her ear still bled where it had been partially bitten through. She put a hand up to it, remembering the ambush as her hand came back into view covered in fresh blood. Drowned that bitch in the mud. She scolded herself mentally, thinking she should describe her more charitably when recounting this story.

…she took the town by storm

It had been a whirlwind battle. Several of the women had set upon each other the second the start sounded. The smarter ones had taken to the trees to let the reckless weed themselves out. Sharon had stabbed Miss Carolina on the way to the trees, but had no idea what had finished her off.

With her all-American face and form…

Midwestern, standard issue. That was how she’d always felt about herself. She wasn’t ugly, but she wasn’t breathtaking. That was okay, all she wanted was happiness and health, and beauty wasn’t mandatory for those.

And there she is…

She was approaching the podium from behind, she could see the announcer singing into his microphone. There was some other woman on her podium. The crowd was cheering on the other side but there was someone-on-her-podium.

Walking on air, she is…

Her ability to walk silently had impressed the trainers, she danced across the muddy path once again. Her many cuts and bruises were forgotten and she sped like a creature of the wind on the last mad dash to the podium. Some other woman was on her podium.

Fairest of the fair, she is

She would be fair, merciful even. The woman on the podium would not know what hit her, would not know she was dead.

There she is –

She leapt in the air, like a deer leaping across the highway to dodge a car. The podium was lower than her now, and in with a shrill whoop of victory she buried her knife in the woman’s skull. The blade snapped off, it had taken too much during this challenge. Miss Wyoming crumpled and her body slid off the podium. The crowd fell silent and a couple of young men in staff uniforms quickly removed the tiara and brought a fresh bouquet. Sharon was properly adorned as the announcer waited patiently. She finally raised her broken knife in victory.

Miss America!

The crowd went wild.

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