by Smitty
The three oppressors stood between her and Union Station. Apart from being her older “sisters”, there was no Cinderella resemblance.
“Where do you think you’re going?” snarled Nancy, the oldest, as they closed.
She strode.
“Well?” echoed Barbara, as they closed.
Her fists clenched.
“Answer us!” screamed Dianne.
And she did, with roundhouse pump to the head that took all of them out, and would’ve earned an awed look from a very young Chuck Norris, had he been available.
She stepped over Barbara’s groaning body, and just kept going.
No glass slipper; no Prince Charming; but still: her destiny beckoned.
* * *
Thanks, Darleen!