He attacked her from behind. Her pink umbrella dropped from her hand, her shelter from the elements an open flower on the ground, incapable of closing off against the hard rain.
“You’re mine, bitch,” he said shoving strange, clammy hands underneath her coat, rain over them like a shroud.
She tried to struggle, but she was too weak to fight him off. Luckily she still had her pepper spray.
She fumbled in her purse. Luckily she still had her lipstick stun gun.
And her Taser.
Oh, look at that, she’d forgotten all about the mace. She hovered over him, lying on the ground, and imitated: “You’re mine, bitch” before spraying the mace in his face.
She phoned the police, and picked up the pink umbrella. After all, it might turn into a long wait, and she had to protect herself against the elements.
Sorry, this was as close to a feel-good story for Christmas that I could get. It was based on the Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenge photo prompt. The beautiful photo is by Etol Bagam.
Lipstick stun guns really exist. I didn’t know this.
Merry Christmas, everyone!