Copper Acropolis – Chapter 8

Here’s Chapter 8.
You can find the other 7 chapters within the archives.

8

‘The Long
Dark Truthful Mirror’

 

            Newgirl
awoke, three hundred yards up the bank of the lake from the body of Birt Gill
about two hours before Doctor Dewar began her tale of woe and regret.  She was feeling much better, rested, and
quite in control of herself.  She hoped
that Pristle, nor any of the other girls that were part of her would surface
ever again.  Newgirl got up and began
walking, to where she did not know.

            After about
an hour of trudging through the brush and woods, creeping through open fields,
trying not to be spotted by anyone, Newgirl came upon an old shack.  She was starting to feel tired again, and
figured she had better rest.  She began
to walk towards the shack.

            “I know that
place,” she heard herself say, although she couldn’t imagine how she’d be able
to know it at all.  She made it to the
door and knocked.  After hearing no
response, she went in.

            The inside
of the shack was sparse.  Light from the full
moon shone in through the only window, providing just enough light to see
shapes and shadows.  There was an unmade
bed to one side of the single room.  On
the other side was a table and two chairs. 
On the back wall of the shack was a mirror.

            Newgirl
realised that she had never seen her image before and now wanted to.  She was scared that she wouldn’t like the way
she looked.  “How bad can I be?” she
said, and walked slowly to the mirror, her head down.  There she stood, head down, in front of the
mirror, preparing herself for the visage that awaited her.  The reflection of her face.  She breathed in deeply, closed her eyes and
lifted her head.

            “Well,
well,” came a male voice, from the direction of the door, “it looks like yet
another of my students has come for a little late night tutoring.”

            I know that voice, came the thought to
Newgirl, from somewhere inside her.  How? came a thought from somewhere
else.  It was the voice of Mr. Long, the Afton Road
School teacher.  How do
I know him?
asked Newgirl of herself. 
Because I love him, answered
Pristle, as Newgirl turned from the mirror to face Mr. Long.  The moon’s light hadn’t penetrated  far enough into the room, and the remaining
darkness afforded Newgirl’s face the chance to remain hidden from his view.

            “It is a
little late for educating you,” said Mr. Long, buttoning up his fly, for he was
coming back from peeing in the woods, “and I’ve already taught a girl
tonight.  She had a long lesson in love.”

            Newgirl
could feel the rage and jealousy build inside her, could feel her heart beat
faster and faster, pumping the blood of flaming anger from Pristle’s heart to
the rest of her body.  Suddenly, Newgirl
felt the rage that Pristle had felt and understood its cause.

            Pristle had
been secretly dating Mr. Long for a whole year. 
He had told her he loved her and that she was his only lover.   She believed him because she loved him.  Now, she was hearing the truth and it made
her mad.  Newgirl could feel Pristle
trying to gain control of the body.  She
could also sense all the other girls feeling sympathy pangs of the rage, the
jealousy that Pristle was experiencing. 
Newgirl decided not to fight Pristle. 
Hell hath no fury like six women scorned.

            “You’’re too
tired for a little more extracurricular activity, Mr. Long?” asked Newgirl,
with a disappointed poutiness in her voice. 
It was not the voice Newgirl had expected.  Pristle had taken over.

            “Who is
this?” asked Mr. Long.  He took a step
forward to try a catch sight of her face.

            “No,” said
Pristle, “stay there.”  Mr. Long
stopped.  “I will come to you.  I’m a brand new girl about to enrol in your
school.  I heard I could get good marks
if I came by and helped you with your homework.”

            Mr. Long
liked the sound of this girl’s voice.  It
was deep and sultry.  Different from so
many of the girls that lived around the area. 
Suddenly he wasn’t feeling so tired. 
“I’ve been known to raise the odd student’s average by asking them to
come by for a little one on one tutorial. 
You say you’re new here, eh?  How
‘bout I administer an oral exam on you to see how smart you are.”

            “Well,  Mr. Long,” said Pristle, slowly advancing
toward him, taking care to stay out of the moonlight,  “I can guarantee that I’m the oddest student
you’ll have, yet I am truly average.  And
as for being smart,” she said, entering into a beam of light, exposing her
face, “I’m smart enough to know that you’ll not live through the night.”

            When Mr.
Long saw Newgirl’s face, he screamed and turned to run.  He ran into the closed door, then frantically
tried to open it.  However, upon his
return from his call of nature, he had locked the door, and now it wouldn’t
open.  He turned so that his back was
against the door and he faced her.  “Who
are you?” he yelled, looking again at her face. 
“What are you?”

            “I’m your
lover,” screamed Pristle.

            “What?” said
Mr. Long, cowering.

            “I’m your
one and only, remember?” yelled Pristle, moving closer to the man.  “That’s what you called me.  ‘You’re one and only.’  Only you lied to me.”

            “I don’t
know you!”

            “No,” said
Pristle, her face a foot away from his, “I don’t know you!  Now admit to me you’re a two timer.”

            “A what?”

            “A
cheater!  A seducer!  Look me in the eye and admit it!”

            Mr. Long
looked into Newgirl’s eyes.  In her left
eye he noticed a familiar twinkle.  He
knew a girl whose eyes twinkled like that.

            “Pristle!”
he gasped.

Newgirl grabbed Mr. Long by the throat.  “Admit it!”

“Pristle, I don’t know – “ was all he could say before
Newgirl began strangling the air out of his body.

“Say it,” she growled.  “Tell me you cheated on me.”

            “Alright, I
admit it,” gurgled Mr. Long.  “I’m a
cheater!”

            Newgirl let
go of Mr. Long’s throat as Pristle said calmly, “See, that wasn’t so hard, was
it?”

            Mr. Long
shook his head as he tried to get air into his lungs.

            “Now, give
us a hug and make up,” said Pristle, putting her hands around the man and
squeezing.  “And I’ll give you a hickey,
because you told me you like them.”  She
bit and bit deeply into his neck, her teeth slicing through arteries and
veins.  At the same time she squeezed
around his waist with all her might, until she heard his back snap.  She let go of him and he fell to the floor,
whimpering, wriggling and jiggling.

            “Now, where
was I?” asked Pristle.  “Ah, yes, the
mirror.”

            She turned
and began to walk back to the mirror.  On
the way to the mirror, Newgirl attempted to regain control of the body, but
Pristle didn’t want to give it up quite yet.

            The body
with the girls in it stopped just out of reflection of the mirror.

            “Pristle,
we’re stopping you!” said Newgirl, “You’ve had your revenge and we’ve all
enjoyed it, but it’s time to give control back to me.”

            “Not yet,”
said Pristle.  “I just want to see what
I, what we look like.”

            Newgirl
sighed.  “You can do that as a part of
Newgirl.  Now, come on, everyone’s
waiting.”

            First Girl
Killed, whose stomach was being used as part of Newgirl, grumbled in
agreement.  Third Dead Girl, who had
grown quite attached, both emotionally and physically (part of her was
Newgirl’s anus), to First Girl Killed, farted her vote in favour of Newgirl.

            “No,”
demanded Pristle, stomping her foot, the left one, down.  “I want to see, as Pristle, what we look
like.  I want to look through my own
eye.”

            “I can’t
believe you’re so vain!”

            “Who said
that?” asked Pristle and Newgirl together.

            “I did,”
shouted the Orphan girl, “Me, up here.”

            “Oh, don’t
tell me Brainiac is going to get her tits all tied up in a knot now,” said
Pristle.

            “They’re not
my tits, Pristle,” said Orphan Brain, “they’re yours.  And they were put on crooked.”

            Everyone who
could look at or sense Newgirl’s chest did so.

            “They are
not crooked,” screamed Pristle, punching Newgirl in the head.

            “Hey, hey,”
shouted Newgirl, “knock it off, or you’re going to knock us out!”

            “Yeah,” said
Orphan Brain.  “knock it off.  I’ve been sitting up here in the head, trying
to figure out why you’re so vain, and I can’t for the life of me figure it
out.”

            “I am not
vain!” pouted Pristle.  “Now let me look
at our face.”

            “Pristle,
will you give me back control of us if we let you look at us in the
mirror?”  It was Newgirl.

            “Yes.”
Pristle.

            “Well, what
do you say, girls?” asked Newgirl of herselves. 
“Should we let the big baby have her peek?”

            There were
grumblings, farts, belches, fluid sloshings and knuckle-cracks as the rest of
Newgirl debated the question. “Great,” thought Newgirl, shaking her head, “I’ve
become a democracy.”

            While the
others decided how they’d vote, Pristle took advantage of the lapse in
attention and leaped in front of the mirror.

            The only one
who noticed was Orphan Brain.  “Watch
out, she’s going to look.”

            Dead Girl
Number Two slammed shut the right eye, her former eye.  But Pristle had full control of the left eye
and left it open.  She gazed upon their
reflection in the mirror.

            Immediately
she screamed in horror.

            “What is
it?” everyone wanted to know.

“Are we ugly?” asked Newgirl.

“The face is not so bad,” said Pristle, gulping,
trying to recover from the initial shock of the sight.  “It’s a little swollen and bruised, but that
can be expected after major cosmetic reconstructive surgery.  But that’s not it.”

“Then what?” asked Orphan Brain.

“It’s… it’s the hair,” whispered Pristle.  “It’s red. 
Flaming red!”

“And what’s wrong with red hair?” demanded Orphan
Brain.  “That red hair happened to belong
to me, you know.  I liked it.”

“Red hair is awful,” cried Pristle.  “You can’t do a thing with red hair!  It’s wiry and awful!”

“Alright,” said Newgirl, “you’ve seen us, now give
back control to me.”

“Never!” exclaimed Pristle.  “I want to die!  I can’t live with red hair.  I’ll kill us all rather than have red hair.”

“Well, if she won’t give up control,” said Orphan
Brain, “then neither will I.”

“What are you talking about, Orphan Brain?” asked
Newgirl.  “You don’t have any control.”

“I’ve always had control,” said Orphan Brain.  “I’ve just been doling it out to the rest of
you.”

Pristle laughed. 
“Prove—“

The body of Newgirl crumpled to the floor.  It lay there motionless for a minute, then it
began to move.

“What was that?” asked Newgirl, as their body slowly
stood up.

“That was a brain aneurysm,” said Orphan Brain.  “I could have let it kill us if I wanted it
to.”

“I wish it had,” said Pristle.  “Better dead than red.”

“I’ll give you a massive heart attack if your not
careful, Pristle,” said Orphan Brain.

“I’ll cut off the blood flow to your ugly brain.”

Newgirl whistled loudly, getting everybody’s
attention.  “This is ridiculous!  We can’t go on like this, the three of us,
cooped up in this one body.”

An objectionable fart rang out loud.

“That’s right, Third Dead Girl,” said Newgirl.  “It was 
remiss of me to leave you other girls out of the equation.  I apologise.”

Third Dead Girl let a thin, odorless one go.  Apology accepted.

Newgirl turned her attention back to the matter at
hand.  “We’ll get nowhere, each of us
wanting control. None of us giving it up. 
We can’t solve this ourself.  Now,
here’s my plan.  Both of you, Pristle and
Orphan Brain, allow me enough control of our body to get back to Copper
Acropolis.  If we haven’t killed Mother
back at the house, then we’ll ask for her advice.”

“What can Mother do about this ugly red hair?”
screamed Pristle.

“I don’t know?” shouted Newgirl, losing her
patience.  “Maybe she could dye it?”

“Oh, no,” said Pristle. “Dyeing red hair is
tricky.  If it’s not done by a professional,
it’ll turn green.  I read that in a
book.”

“Well, maybe Mother’ll take us to the hairdresser,”
said Newgirl.  “Would that be acceptable
to you, Pristle?”

“I’d like to be pampered,” said Pristle, conceding.

“Orphan Brain,” said Newgirl, “will you allow me to
take us to Mother?”

“I have nothing against you, Newgirl,” said Orphan
Brain.  “It’s your rotten, stinking, vain
heart that I don’t trust.”

“Pristle is your heart, too,” said Newgirl to Orphan
Brain.  “You’ll have to trust her.”

“Yes, Orphan Brain,” said Pristle in her sweetest
voice, yet in a mocking tone, “I’m your heart. 
Trust me.”

“Give me a chance and I’ll stick a stake right through
that heart,” said Orphan Brain.

“Yeah, well I’ve got my eye on you, too,” said
Pristle.

“Are we agreed, then,” asked Newgirl.

            There was a
pause as Third Dead Girl made a fart.

            “Thank you,
Third Dead Girl,” said Newgirl. 
“Pristle?  Orphan Brain?”

“Agreed,” said Pristle.

            “Agreed,”
said Orphan Brain.

            “Well,
then,” said Newgirl, putting a false smile on her face, “let’s go and find
Mother.”

——–
Next time:  Chapter 9 – “A Volatile Combination”

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