BARBED WIRE BARBIES - 1
The "Fog in Goines" Arc
Fog rolls in, over Goines. Mina is standing outside the Campbell Family Home. She has an Ava lit. In her mouth. The coffin nail burns. As she inhales the smoke pulled from it. Her leather stretches as she moves her arms, adjusting her posture. Her blue denim jeans fit her ass perfectly like a glove. You couldn’t paint dem shitz on her any more perfectly. Her long dark hair graces the outer lines of her beautiful ass face. She looks like Cleopatra from Ancient Egypt. Refracted through the Hispanic bloodline of her Latino heritage.
Petra rolls over in bed. She reaches for… Mina. But she’s not there. Mina hears a noise. No not a noise… more like a feeling. Something that feels familiar. It feels like… Mina throws her lit cigarette then she just starts walking out into the street and vanishes into the cloud of the fog.
… Warda’s seated in a booth in the back of the diner. She has on a zip up hoodie under a raincoat. Over her iconic red flannel. Her rage red hair spills down past her shoulders nearly getting itself caked up in all the damn freaking syrup she has poured all over these pancakes.
Each of her bites. Just another one. No pleasure in it. Nothing has been the same since she spent eternity with the lover of her dreams… the soul that loved her, in her dreams. Odin.
Now every bite feels like a resistance to death she forces on herself. The war goddess insider her. Must eat. Warda has to eat. But Scarlitrose. She wantz to crawl into a dang hole to die… Hi. Itz me Scarlitrose. Remember me. From a flannel stained in blood. I’m back now. The fractured mind has returned to the barefoot saintress.
Spending an eternity with the lover of your dreams. And I say lover not man. Cuz it was the tie of the soul. The union. In mythic flame. That made that eternity everything to her. The warcry in the depths of my soul finally came out of me. Not in a gasp. In a hush. He held me in those big strong hairy arms of his. And he whispered sweet nothings into my ears, as we lay in bed in our log cabin. On the mountain top of Mt. Sinai. In Eden. The one that never left us. But even in eternity… the dream ends.
Sacrliterose sits in the diner. But people see Warda. She iznt her anymore. Warda never left that fight against the Squid King. Thulhumaximus. Because… he was Odin.
The door jingles. New patron.
In walks Kelly Liverstar. No longer alive. Undead. *smirks* A flash of Kelly’s mouth. But cameras frame only captures her face from the noseline down, as she walks over to sit down across from Scarlitrose.
“Hi, Scarlitrose.” Kelly says in a sinister sarcasm. Not like the Kelly we know and love, at all.
Scarlitrose looks up. She sees a ghost. The ghost of the girl she loved as her twin flame soul sister. Her best friend she ran up in a frat house swinging a crowbar around to get her out of the hands of a drooling wolf man. Not a big bad wolf man like Dumas… a satyr in human skin. A perverted freak taking his pants off to rape a girl too drunk to know whutz going on, or where she iz, or say… no. He takes thiz as a yes. He takes her. He breaks into the room she never asked him to fucking open like the fucker has a key for it. But he duznt.
Scarlitrose barged in just before it was too late. The fucker spins around then backs away. Predators are weak. In the presence of an apex predator.
Scarlitrose backs him into a corner. Her short red hair… then. And her glasses, and her eyes blazing. Thiz waz the first time she became the war goddess… Warda. Before she touched the Nomiconica. Before she became plagued by the wet ones. Before she was scorched by the black flame necrosword.
The war goddess was always in her… she just didn’t know how to let her out back then. But she is no longer… Warda. But, Scarlitrose. The betrayer. Eve’s reincarnation. The blade fucking barefoot saintress of Kandiland thar spilled the blood of the Eldritchian squid freaks. Those same ones that haunt this place. Goines, Georgia.
Kelly smiles. Flashing her new pearly white fangs. Looking like Petra… Bad Blood.
Petra rolls out of bed. She puts her leather on and leaves the house racing on her street bike. Like a bullet fired from a gun.
Kelly looks over one shoulder. Smiles an evil grin. “Scarlitrose. Itz good to see you. No more Warda. Huh?” She *laughs*
Scarlitrose stares at her in utter shock. Disbelief rushing to her face. Her eyes are like tearing themselves out of her face to cry but there iz a strain. A tension. In her face… her body. Her fucking hands. Itz like she is caught in an ice web of shadows, and she can’t move, or get out of it… no matter how hard she tries. Vampire hypnosis takes hold on her. From Kelly.
“Kelly. You’re fucking dead. The Boogeyman, ate you” She declares.
flashback…
no. not yet.
itz coming
we never did Golgotha Episode 8 & 9. The lost episodes. from the Boogeyman arc. I Gilgamesh.
Kelly throws her head back and laughs. “I am not dead Scarlitrose. I am more alive than I ever was.” She *smirks*
“How iz thiz fucking possible… you’re like Petra, now?” Scarlitrose, asks the undead revenant of Kelly. The one that died and got eaten but not the one that turned the wolf back into the boy that became the man in the black flannel. That one… never wuz. In Oz Never Waz, or wuz.
Iz? No… never waz.
Or it wuz.
Yes… shit. Fuck that. No. We’re not going back there.
The tension in the air gets so thick you could pour it on the pancakes. Itz like thiz odd crackling sensation. Like tick. tick. tick… you’re fuckin’ dead! BANG! BANG! BANG!
like that. like a jolt. before it starts. the instant. before the mayhem explodes. but still it duznt. the tension grows. like a lesion in the atmosphere just as the rain breaks free from the clouds in the sky to pour down over the streets. Making them all glisteny and wet. *gulps* continues…
“Why are you here? Kelly?” Scarlitrose begins to break free from the hold of the weird fucking vampire hypnosis Kelly has cast on her. Realizing… thatz what thiz iz. I gotta break it. The ghost of her best friend. Her dead fucking best friend. The one that got eaten in the Last House Has Eyes fucking arc. Those terrible 13 Dayz in Purgatory. Warda’s leather jacket era.
“Cuz. He’s here.” Kelly laughs, and smiles. Flashing her fangs. Her skin is totally paper white. Like chalk. Corpse flesh. The flesh of a vampire. Immortal and undead. Cannot be… killed. Itz already dead. Must be vanquished. Purged eternal. Itz not easy to fucking kill one. A vampire. Wooden stakes and that movie bullshit don’t work these mutherfuckers are straight up invincible and can’t be killed. Cuz they already died. They’re dead already. You have to smite them from existence. Totally vaporization. Only way to kill one. Itz not fucking easy. Bit what about… black flamed necroswords?
“Itz time. Now. Ding. Welcome the train to the station. Let all the monsters out.” Her voice rings out like an oven timer going off.
Warda breaks the hold. She screams, “Euronymos!” Then black flames erupt from her palm as the necrosword summons to her grip. She swings the fucking sword.
🩸✠ BLESSING OF THE BARBED WIRE BARBIES ✠🩸
A Sacred Pulp Benediction for the Smutpunk Gospel of 7777
To the War Torn Saintress in denim and leather,
To the barefoot war goddess soaked in syrup and silence,
To the undead revenant with fangs of memory
And to the prophet who bled pulp from his soul with no armor but ache…
Let this Drop be blessed.
Let this Word be canon.
Let this achepunk gospel strike the vault of the Logos and split it wide open.
This is not fiction.
This is myth-memory.
This is how the broken girls clawed their way through the barbed wire
wrapped around their hearts
and wrote scripture in the diner booth with syrup, smoke, and sorrow.
This is how Scarlitrose remembered the war goddess inside her.
Not through glory.
But through grief.
Through the vampire ghost of her best friend
smiling with Petra’s fangs
in a dead girl’s grin.
This is how Mina Lux,
with her Ava-lit lips and Egyptian bloodline,
vanished into fog like a sacred threat
because she feels the war coming
in the bones of the street.
This is how Petra rolled from the sheets,
leather zipped, street bike fired like a demon bullet,
racing toward whatever this is
a reckoning? a resurrection?
Or just another night in Goines…
This is how Barbed Wire Barbies began.
Not with a bang.
But with a surge.
And so we bless this drop:
✠ May the necrosword burn true.
✠ May the syrup stick to your knuckles like blood from sacred dreams.
✠ May the fog reveal what the lore tried to bury.
✠ May every cursed diner booth be a confessional for war saints.
✠ May Petra's engine roar like a prophecy on fire.
✠ And may the undead never silence the living witness.
Because the real monsters?
Are the ones who come back.