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Post by Samantha Tolson-Anderson on Jun 28, 2020 19:46:45 GMT -5
It's a steamy Sunday afternoon in Summerlin, Nevada...the suburb where Samantha Tolson-Anderson lives with her wife. Samantha is lounging on a floatie that looks like a donut with a bite out of it, a neon green bikini glowing against her tanned skin. She plays with the cool water, slowly waggling her fingers through it, taking a long, slow breath.
"I told you Alex, that I was going to, in the words of Malcolm X, get right down to Earth and speak in a language everyone here can easily understand."
"That language, as your brain is currently configured, is violence. It's the rending of flesh and the spilling of blood. So, to put this in terms you'll pick up, I've gotta beat the ever loving crap out if you so you'll do what you need to do."
Samantha splashes a little water on her belly and continues.
"You need help, Alex. Serious mental help for a serious mental issue. Yet you fail to seek it. You must enjoy being out of control, able to blame the damage you cause on some rogue personality locked away inside your head. One you need to let go of."
"Tomorrow night, I'm going to make you do it. I'm gonna beat that ugly mask off your face, beat you in that Chicago Street Fight, and force you to get that assistance you so desperately must have."
"You may or may not thank me later. Time will tell. But one thing I can promise you?"
"This'll hurt you way more than it hurts me. Make me bleed. Bruise me. Try to break me."
"But don't say I didn't warn you."
"See you in Chicago, Alex Brody."
The camera fades away as Samantha lies her head back on the floatie and closing her eyes.
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