The second beginning of Bridget Belue was more than humble. It was dreadfully, pitiably impoverished.
That’s a little better.
This second beginning was not one of personal choice, in fact, Bridget had not been looking forward to it from its conception. Her therapist had recommended it, however, and her widowed mother and loan shark grandmother were avid supporters. “Quit thinking about that damn, no good, horse wrangling, puppy mangling lowlife,” said her grandmother. “Damn fool had it coming.”
Despite their warnings, Bridget couldn’t help but think of her father. She didn’t like to think of how he died, but it had been rather interesting, and she supposed she could garner some friends and sympathy for it. It could help to accomplish her, different, goals.
Her father had had a mission. One foggy, autumn morning, he woke up with a jolt, sitting up straight in bed, eyes open wide. He crawled out of bed and walked slowly to the kitchen. Bridget was sitting at the table, attempting to finish last week’s biology assignment. She really liked biology-she truly did-but she rarely found the time to do her homework between late night phone calls and National Geographic programs. The morning was the best time, but on this particular morning, it became the worst.
“I had a dream,” said her father softly, sitting down across from her. He folded his hands in his lap. “We are going to be great.”
“Cool,” Bridget had said, doodling a spaceship on the corner of her page.
“In my dream, I had a vision. I think it’s from the presence-the one always watching us.”
Bridget leaned in closer and set down her pencil. She often wondered about the presence. Her mother claimed that her father had an intense connection with it, and though often he spouted cryptic phrases, he rarely had a legitimate message.
“Ten generations, Bridget. We must raise ten generations. The presence promised our family a grand prize after we have survived for so long; we will receive it in the afterlife,” he sighed, smiling. “It will be beautiful. Cheesy, warm, delicious. You must do this, Bridget. It won’t be easy. The presence is not a kind one, I think, and will make things rough for us, but you must begin it. We must be timeless.”
“Timeless, huh,” said Bridget. Returning to her homework, she added, “I’ll see what I can do.”
A week later, her father died in a knife fight with a homeless man. He wanted to buy the man’s dog. The man wanted to eat it. An argument ensued, and her father ended up face down in the gutter, a knife protruding from his back. The police thought it quite funny. Bridget found it quite sad, which they found very surprising.
Now a year later, on her own and only slightly better off than her father’s murderer, Bridget knew what must be done. Whatever cheesy goodness awaited in the afterlife had better be worth her trouble.
“Honey, the sixties are over.”
The neighbors had arrived.
The welcoming party hardly qualified as a party, or even a get together. The grass was a bit itchy, and the brunette man particularly grated on Bridget’s nerves. She rather liked Darren, though. Double lightening bolts, that was surely a good sign.
Black hair? Major turn on. Total lack of fashion sense? Bridget was sold. Someone was needed to bring in the second generation. She couldn’t just impregnate herself, after all.
After a few chats, she treated him to her specialty-the orgasmic hand kiss. The other visitors shuffled to the other end of the lot, and said in hushed whispers.
“How does she do that?”
“Hell, my wife does better. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
“Get some!” shouted the brunette man.
Embarrassed, Darren Dreamer slunk home. Bridget, unsuccessful in her attempts to get him to move in, was forced to get a job.
The medical branch seemed to pay well. Bridget hoped she could put that biology knowledge to use, or at least her experience at washing blood out of clothes.
Perhaps she would have been better off as a stripper.
Quite creepily, Darren seemed to agree.
After much more seduction and inane conversations, Darren agreed to move in. He was incredibly dreamy, Bridget thought.
What the fuck.
$43,995 dollars!? Who has the sort of money? Wow, way to make the first generation easy.. Damn, I had no idea he was so rich. I feel like a cheater.
With this sort of money, it was time to build a proper home.
Darren came into the family with two types of baggage. The first was sacks of money.
The second was a teenage son, Dirk Dreamer. He was a bit too smart and bit too lacking in personality, and so he was crucially overlooked in the building of the house.
Looks like Dirk will be getting better acquainted with nature.