Laura scanned the vast horizon around her. She lived near the on and off ramp to the interstate, a place where nobody else wished to dwell. She didn't want to either, but it was all she could afford.

  That was all going to change now.

  She looked down and saw that a good portion of her house was ruined. Where her body hadn't broken through, the structure had collapsed from the intense stress. It was quite a dump. Greg was still tied up in his chair. He had fallen onto his side amidst the wreckage of a table and some of the shattered plaster. He appeared to be out cold. The roof was about nine or ten feet in height; since it now came up to almost her knees, Laura figured that put her somewhere in the neighborhood of fifty to sixty feet tall.

  She slowly ran her hands down her front and around her sides. It sent pleasurable shivers down her spine as she stretched out in a cool morning air that chilled her bare skin in a loving manner. Laura hadn't felt this relaxed in years. The freeway that passed alongside her house was devoid of all travelers save a small tumbleweed that rolled it's way lazily towards richer pastures.

  "No one ever comes here and no one has the guts to leave." Laura smiled to herself, "no one will ever get the chance to do either ever again." She looked down again at the crumpled form at her foot. "None of them deserve to get away."

  The center of town was about a mile away and she could see it in the distance. It's dustbowl appearance gave it a haze that almost camoflagued it from view, even at her current height. By the side of the house was a large pile of hay that she had bought some time ago. She did so to remind herself that one of her dreams was to own a horse one day; a proud animal that she could love and care for. The hay was tied down with a dark tarp behind the back of the hose next to the shell of an old Ford Mustang that Greg swore he would fix-up when he found the time. Laura reached down and took hold of it, the stakes that pinned it down plucked out of the ground easily.

  It may not be the best outfit she could hope for, but she didn't want to go into Paradise in the nude.

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  Earl looked with studious intensity at the board that lay in front of him; it was a complex melange of red and black cardboard squares. Littered around it were small plastic chips of more than four colors, two bottle caps, a large button, and a faded quarter. He scratched the stubble that dotted his sweaty chin with dirty nails that were worn down halfway to his cuticles. Wilbur, who sat in a rocking chair opposite Earl, yawned.

  "Hurry up and make yer move Earl."

  Earl sneered.

  "Now don't rush me, I'll make my move when I'm gud and ready."

  "Aww, fer god sakes Earl. Just pick and piece n' push it."

  "Hush up now, I'm almost done."

  Wilbur grabbed his warm beer, took two sips, and put it back down. He watched it intently after doing so, more interested in the ripples that kept coursing through the surface of it every few seconds than in watching Earl in deep, all-consuming thought. Due to the fact that old Burt had never gotten a reel of Jurrasic Park in at the local theater, Wilbur didn't know what it pertained. He burped with a small grin, relishing the taste.

  "Jeehosaphat Earl, you been thinkin' fer about five minutes now."

  "I said hush up!"

  Wilbur folded his arms in contempt and stared back into his beer where the ripples continued. There was a soft boom from somewhere off in the distance and he quickly looked around.

  The porch on the front of his store was empty save for him and his opponent. Across the street, the lunch crowd was beginning to find it's way into Roy's diner. He should go and get something there, it had been a while and he was tired of eating those hotdogs from the heated carousel on his snack counter. He thought he felt the ground shake for a second, but it was probably nothing. It shook grit loose from the awning over the porch and it filtered down to the rotting hardwood.

  Wilbur had to remember to get Laura to clean that in the next day or so. He'd make it part of her weekly cleaning of the store; she wouldn't mind.

  "Aren't you done yet?"

  Earl just tapped a quiet finger in response.

  Someone was screaming; it was far away, but it was getting closer. The ground shook again but Wilbur failed to take notice as the screamer took in a quick breath and started up again. It turned out to be a young man wearing faded jeans; one of his pantlegs was torn and he was bleeding from a small cut underneath. He was running away at quite a fast pace, looking behind him from time to time in a state of sheer panic. He cocked a curious eyebrow.

  "Was that the Conner kid?"

  "Now stop trying to distract me Wilbur."

  "I'm just sayin' is all; it was just a simple question." A larger quake almost knocked over his beer, pissing him off something fierce as he held his hand over the top to shield it from raining dust.

  Earl's face brighted suddenly; he picked up the quarter and began tapping at vacant squares all around the board. He finally set it down, looked up, and smiled defiantly.

  "King me!"

  A deafening boom blew out glass and straying bits of debris from the inside of the store. Packages of stale chips and pastries exploded into the morning air and flung coagulated fruit filling into the gamer's ears. Splinters of wooden pillars stung Wilbur's face as he dove out into the street just in time to avoid the massive pine and stone awning that came crashing down onto his porch. It blanketed Earl in crumbling rubble and crushed the chair that Wilbur had sat in for the past twenty years. He jumped up and wiped a smattering of grape paste out of his eye as ran towards what was left of the front of his store.

  "Earl! EARL! You crazy ol' coot, speak to me!" He began to pick up what he could and tossed it aside; he was totally oblivious to the giant foot that was sticking through the ceiling in the back of his store. "EARL!"

  Wilbur lifted a large section of plywood and uncovered a bleeding arm blanketed in masonry dust, he began tugging at it wildly. After a few seconds of effort he dragged it's owner out of the pile; he was dazed, but relatively intact.

  "Sweet boilin' buttermilk Earl! Are you okay?"

  Earl coughed up a cloud of dust with a healthy glob of bean dip before shaking his head and trying to focus his eyes on his rescuer.

  "Did I win?"

  Wilbur huffed and dumped him on the ground. He looked back down at his porch and raised his arms in attempted understanding.

  "What the hell happened? It'll take Laura weeks to clean this up. What did th... WHOA!"

  High above the roof of what was left of his general store, Wilbur saw the unbelievably huge face of the local janitor. And she didn't look too happy.

  Laura scowled grimly as she looked down into the town square. The sound of her thrashing about had attracted some of the people's attention. Normally they were too involved in their own pointless meanderings to take notice of others; but today, all eyes were on her. The tarp she had made into a make-shift bikini was held together with hemp rope and it was chaffing her skin in a few spots. It was quite irritating. To show her ire, she bent down and knocked over the rest of Wilbur's roof with a simple swipe from the back of her hand. It crumbled away like construction paper and flew into the side alley where it collected together in dusty heaps; Wilbur was too petrified to notice. Laura stood to her full height and put her hands on scantily clad hips.

  "HELLO DOWN THERE ALL YOU PATHETIC LITTLE INSECTS," Laura's booming voice rang out into the streets. Customers of Roy's Diner, who had been gazing through the grimey windows, crowded forward to get a better look. Her long legs stretched higher than all of the buildings in town, the muscles in her arms and thighs were extremely well defined and glistened in the sunlight with a light sweat from the mild heat. Her huge breasts jiggled and swayed back and forth in her halter top as she threw back her head and laughed with a intensity that made people's knees shake. Roy's cigar dropped out of his mouth.

  "Damn, that's a whole lotta' woman."

  Ethel smacked him on the face.

  "Shut yer mouth Roy, are you goin' to let her do that to yer friend's store? Get out there and tell that cleaner of yer's to quit all this now."

  "Are you kiddin' me? You do it, I ain't goin' to get myself," his eyes went wide, "SHIT! She's headin' this way." Roy turned around and put his greasy hands to his mouth to use as a makeshift megaphone. "Bitch is comin' at us! Run for your lives!"

  People began shouting as the scrambled towards the back of the diner; tables were knocked over and the sound of glasses shattering as they spilled to the floor were drowned out in their cries of panic. Unfrotunately, due to the genius of Roy's architectural design, there was no back door to make an escape through. Laura slowly got down on her knees, the floor shook lightly from the impact and a few of the windows rattled. She leaned forward as she set her palms on the ground; and tied to the back of her left hand and forearm, still trapped in his desk chair prison, was Greg. His disheveled head flailed about wildly as he screamed.

  "Help me for god's sake! SOMEBODY HELP ME!"

  Laura's face loomed into the window as she leaned down; it took up almost the entire front side of the diner.

  "SHUT UP YOU WORTHLESS BASTARD." She closed one eye and peered forward. "Ahh, there you are Roy!"

  Her voice echoed through the diner, he swallowed hard and his adam's apple danced upon his neck.

  "I'm afraid I won't be able to clean you're diner anytime soon. But don't worry about it, in a minute you won't have to worry about it being cleaned ever again," and with that, she started to reach forward with her right hand. The glass it met shattered and fell away with little resistance; some of the customers screamed, others dove under bolted tables. A number of unlucky ones were frozen in panic.

  Roy was one those unfortunates.

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