Sour Apple #20 Let Me Get This Straight; Cheeseburger #12 WTF
Author: etherealpenguin
'verse: The Hub
Title: Godzilla Toys And Delayed Bedtimes
Challenge: Sour Apple: 20. let me get this straight; Cheeseburger: 12. wtf
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Character Death
Word Count: 503
Summary: Marianne wasn't the best babysitter, but nobody could say that she didn't try.
It seemed like it was only hours ago, even though it had been almost a decade. Marianne sighed heavily, and remembered:
The kids had run her ragged, chasing her from one end of the house to the next. And sure, okay, so nobody their age really liked bedtime, but this was ridiculous. She would be dealing with a Godzilla toy-shaped bruise on her cheek for the next three days, at least.
She had finally caught the oldest, and wrangled her into bed, using a cup of chocolate milk before brushing her teeth as bait. And once the oldest, Adeline, was in bed, the other two fell asleep with a lot less fuss. After all, they didn't want to seem like babies (or at least, that was the excuse they'd used).
And so Marianne was exhausted and sore by the time Mr. Franklin came home from work. She could tell by his frown and brusk manner that it hadn't gone well - probably why he'd had to stay so late in the first place.
Still, she was happy to report that leftovers were in the fridge, just in case, and that the kids had finally gone to bed, more or less on schedule. Sure, it was a lot closer to the “less” end, but she figured that he didn't need to know that. The less stress she gave him, the more likely she was to get a bigger paycheck.
Which she needed, desperately. College textbooks didn't buy themselves.
So when Mr. Franklin only muttered a few words of thanks and handed her a ten dollar bill, Marianne sort of lost her temper. She blamed the budding Godzilla bruise. “You promised me at least $20. I've been here for five hours. I mean, seriously?”
Mr. Franklin's eyebrow twitched, and Marianne promised herself that she would stand her ground - what was the worst that could happen? She wouldn't be asked again to babysit those little monsters for so much less than minimum wage? - when a gigantic boom pierced the room, ripping into her ears.
There was shrapnel and she was airborne. Everything had gone black.
She had died in that home, clutching that small amount of money. To this day, she wondered if she could have cleared the gas main blast zone if she would have just taken the bill and left. She knows, logically, that she couldn't have: that there was too little time, and that it had taken out the whole block instantaneously.
Still, she wished she was stuck somewhere, anywhere, but with the ghosts of kids that still wouldn't sleep - because now they didn't need to - and an unresponsive cheapskate for company.
Hell, even one of the construction workers would've been fine - and they were rude and disgusting - if only they'd been able to see her. She sighed and turned back to Adeline, and the Godzilla toy that even Marianne had stopped hating after awhile. Stuck babysitting even in the afterlife. Joy of joys.
'verse: The Hub
Title: Godzilla Toys And Delayed Bedtimes
Challenge: Sour Apple: 20. let me get this straight; Cheeseburger: 12. wtf
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Character Death
Word Count: 503
Summary: Marianne wasn't the best babysitter, but nobody could say that she didn't try.
It seemed like it was only hours ago, even though it had been almost a decade. Marianne sighed heavily, and remembered:
The kids had run her ragged, chasing her from one end of the house to the next. And sure, okay, so nobody their age really liked bedtime, but this was ridiculous. She would be dealing with a Godzilla toy-shaped bruise on her cheek for the next three days, at least.
She had finally caught the oldest, and wrangled her into bed, using a cup of chocolate milk before brushing her teeth as bait. And once the oldest, Adeline, was in bed, the other two fell asleep with a lot less fuss. After all, they didn't want to seem like babies (or at least, that was the excuse they'd used).
And so Marianne was exhausted and sore by the time Mr. Franklin came home from work. She could tell by his frown and brusk manner that it hadn't gone well - probably why he'd had to stay so late in the first place.
Still, she was happy to report that leftovers were in the fridge, just in case, and that the kids had finally gone to bed, more or less on schedule. Sure, it was a lot closer to the “less” end, but she figured that he didn't need to know that. The less stress she gave him, the more likely she was to get a bigger paycheck.
Which she needed, desperately. College textbooks didn't buy themselves.
So when Mr. Franklin only muttered a few words of thanks and handed her a ten dollar bill, Marianne sort of lost her temper. She blamed the budding Godzilla bruise. “You promised me at least $20. I've been here for five hours. I mean, seriously?”
Mr. Franklin's eyebrow twitched, and Marianne promised herself that she would stand her ground - what was the worst that could happen? She wouldn't be asked again to babysit those little monsters for so much less than minimum wage? - when a gigantic boom pierced the room, ripping into her ears.
There was shrapnel and she was airborne. Everything had gone black.
She had died in that home, clutching that small amount of money. To this day, she wondered if she could have cleared the gas main blast zone if she would have just taken the bill and left. She knows, logically, that she couldn't have: that there was too little time, and that it had taken out the whole block instantaneously.
Still, she wished she was stuck somewhere, anywhere, but with the ghosts of kids that still wouldn't sleep - because now they didn't need to - and an unresponsive cheapskate for company.
Hell, even one of the construction workers would've been fine - and they were rude and disgusting - if only they'd been able to see her. She sighed and turned back to Adeline, and the Godzilla toy that even Marianne had stopped hating after awhile. Stuck babysitting even in the afterlife. Joy of joys.