@Alfie had always looked down on Monella, smug, condescending, acting like she was untouchable. That air of superiority, that constant sneer, the way she spoke like Monella was beneath her, it’s all gone now.

Her confidence shatters the moment Monella’s fingers tangle in her hair. She shrieks as she’s yanked backward, her perfect posture collapsing into a desperate scramble. No more smug remarks, no more cold, calculating stares, just raw, pathetic panic.

Monella drags her toward the stall, her nails scratching uselessly at Monella’s arm. The door slams open, and with one brutal shove, her face plunges into the toilet’s cold, filthy water.

FLUSH.

The rush of water roars in her ears as she thrashes, arms flailing, her once-pristine composure drowning along with her. Gone is the woman who always had control, now she’s just another gasping, sputtering mess, helpless under Monella’s grip.

Monella yanks her up, just long enough to hear her choke and cough, water streaming from her nose and mouth. Her eyes, once sharp and calculating, are now wide with terror. That superiority, washed away like the filth circling the drain. Monella shoves her back down.

FLUSH.

More bubbles, more choked gurgles. She’s nothing now, not the untouchable, not the one calling the shots, just another fool who thought she was better than Monella.

Finally, Monella pulls her up one last time. She coughs violently, water dripping from her ruined face. The mirror catches her reflection, soaked, humiliated, her arrogance shattered beyond repair.

Monella presses the barrel of the gun against her forehead. She trembles, lips parting like she wants to say something, to salvage the last shred of her dignity. But she gets nothing.

Monella smirks, “Hasta mañana, bitch.”

The gunshot rings out, a brutal finality. Her body slumps to the floor, blood pooling beneath her, mixing with the stagnant water. The toilet behind her gurgles again, as if trying to flush away the last remnants of the woman who once thought she was untouchable. She wasn’t.

Perfect posture?

Did this take place in the 12th Street Public Toilets?

So let me see if I can get this right. You killed Alfie because in your head you were left to feel less than? Instead of getting over whatever it was that had you feeling like you did, you made the decision to feel superior to your crew by leaving us blowing in the wind with no heads up of your intentions. 

RIP Alfie

I come before everyone with the facts of the death of Alfie. As you all know this is our country to run as we see fit. And every now and then the Gawds of this country must be heard. Whether we wish to hear from them or not. And everyone knows we cannot revenge these Gawds. Everyone knows Alfie has many tasks before him. He even goes by the name Jen on one of his side jobs. 

This wuss Monello shot Alfie who by the way may be on life support. I'll have to get back to you on that update. Anyhow he shot our Alfie because he could not get to Jen. He was foolish enough to come back and tell us in the name "IshotJenlol"

Please pray that Alfie may very well be in the ICU. 

Scooter had barely earned his place in the crew when Monella, the grizzled leader, seemed to pull a vanishing act. One minute, Monella was telling him how to handle the streets. The next, he was gone. Apparently retired, just like that.

Now, Scooter stood outside the old warehouse, staring at the empty space where his crew used to gather. The others had scattered. Some had jumped ship knowing what was coming, others kept their heads down. Scooter had no idea where to turn, feeling like a ghost in the world he had just started to understand.

He thought of Monella’s last words: “Fetch me a beer”.

He didn't take shit around here too seriously. There was nothing that couldn't be settled by a calm conversation over a cold beer. Don't stress too hard on shit. Take it as it comes. Assess your options, organise your priorities and move forward as they suggest. 

He gave a silent salute, "farewell Monella". 

He didn’t have a crew anymore, but that didn’t mean he was out. Not yet. This life had a way of drawing you in.