Why Should I Be a Magical Girl? I'm Overworked As It Is! — Chapter 8: First Battle
“Are you KIDDING ME?”
Shuli apologetically responded, “I’m not kidding you.”
Carmen stared in disbelief. “Perfect! Well, no magic wand. Awesome. I'm sure someone else can handle the apocalyptic weed monster, then.”
She looked around for that someone else.
Two cops were sprinting in the opposite direction, one of them holding a walkie-talkie to his mouth, shouting, “Form a perimeter, we need the army!” He wasn’t even pressing the side button to relay the message. Apparently, he'd forgotten how to use it.
Several people filmed the whole event on their phones instead of running. Nobody—not one single person in the entire, panicked, screaming square, aside from the guy who got thrown in the trash—appeared to be gearing up to fight the twenty something foot dandelion.
The monster was still on a war path to Max’s Burgers.
Carmen's shoulders sagged.
“Ugh.”
“What are you going to do, Carmen?” Shuli asked, worriedly.
Carmen scanned the nearby shops with the flat tiredness of a worker who had once found a way to fix a broken ice machine with a paperclip and pure spite.
Her eyes landed on a gardening shop wedged between a nail salon and a bike shop. It had a window display of sun hats, flowers, and ceramic pots.
She walked toward it, because the dandelion monster was loud and rambunctious but slow. Taking her time also gave others the opportunity to take action so Carmen could back out.
She made it to the shop; a bell chimed cheerfully overhead. It was eerily empty, except for the worker who was hiding at the register in the fetal position. She passed the rack of seed packets and looked up at the section signs to orient herself.
Finding what she wanted, she made her way to the back.
Shuli followed closely at her heels.
“Why are we here?—oh. That’s… yes this could work.”
Carmen stood in front of the aisle lined with weed killer in every size, brand, and price point known to man. She picked up the cheapest jug, read the label with a big red hazardous sign warning the user with a cancer-causing disclaimer.
Shuli coughed.
Carmen looked over. Shuli was on her hind legs, pointedly nudging a different jug with one paw—the Organic WEED-B-GONE, three times the price. Carmen made a face of betrayal at the cost.
“That’s too expensive. It does the same thing, it’s just marketing.”
“It’s better!”
“It kills weeds. It doesn’t need a damn resume.”
“It doesn’t just kill the weed, it kills everything around the weed. What if a poor worm happens to be minding its own business nearby? This—” she jabbed a paw at the organic bottle “—actually breaks down. It doesn’t just murder and linger for years.”
“Don’t you want me to get rid of it?!”
“That’s not the point!”
“It’s extremely the point. We’re currently on a timer set by a homicidal plant. AND that jug is ridiculously expensive! It’s all bad anyways, that one is just marketed for people who are easily guilted.”
The monster roared again, the whole shop shuddered on its foundation as the chaotic noise of outside got louder: sirens wailed, getting closer but never arriving, more people screamed, cars crashed into each other, tires screeched.
Shuli shouted, “Pardon my yelling, but GET THE ORGANIC!”
“Fine!” Carmen snapped, snatching the organic jug and speed-walking to the register. She slammed it on the conveyor belt.
The cashier popped up from behind the register. He was a teenager with visibly shaking hands as he took it and scanned it.
Beep.
“Crappy boss, huh?”
The cashier nodded, eyes tearing up.
“I can’t leave or I’ll get fired.”
“I relate to that.”
Carmen swiped her card.
Declined.
So much for her lucky day.
Shuli gasped, “You can’t afford the weed killer?”
The cashier was now looking at Carmen, who swiped again out of principle, knowing full well what was in her account.
Declined.
“I think something’s wrong with your machine.”
Another roar.
The cashier burst into tears, hurled the bottle at Carmen with both hands, and screamed, “JUST TAKE IT!”
“Thanks,” Carmen said, and left.
Armed with her weapon, Carmen advanced toward the monster, grumbling about her disrupted break. “Why couldn’t this have happened when I’m not here?!”
Cars had thankfully jammed the road, blocking the monster from progressing. Everyone had mostly evacuated and left it alone.
It seemed to be attracted to the nonstop honking in the drive-thru.
“They aren’t very smart,” Shuli observed.
“No, shit. If they were they wouldn’t be eating there in the first place! HEY, OVER HERE!” Carmen yelled, trying to get the monster’s attention while lugging the jug closer.
Carmen spotted an abandoned car with a door hanging open, engine running. Whoever had been driving it prioritized their own life over their vehicle. Finally someone with common sense.
She dove in and slammed her fist down on the horn, clutching the jug with a death grip.
The horn blared, cutting the sporadic honking at the drive-thru.
The monster’s massive head whipped toward the sound.
She quickly leapt out when it smashed the car with a sign post. “Ooof, I hope they have insurance.”
She winced in sympathy and waved the jug angrily at the monster. “I have two other jobs. TWO. Do you understand how horrible it is for me to work a third one for free!?”
The monster swung a massive leaf-limb, aiming for Carmen’s head. Carmen dropped, jug and all, rolled, and came up spraying—a full, unbroken stream of organic weed killer straight into its gaping mouth.
Her knees creaked in protest, informing her in no uncertain terms: they were not interested in being reactivated for this.
It coughed and sputtered, stunned.
Then shrank.
The monster collapsed in on itself until it was a regular sized wilting weed. It gave one last pitiful tiny cough and sank into a crack in the pavement.
People peered out from their hiding spots, blinking at each other like they’d all just woken up from the same bad dream. The fit guy who’d tried to gladiator the monster popped out of his trash can, fist raised.
“Hooray! We're saved!”
Cheers rippled. Carmen was out of breath, sweating, weed killer jug dangling from one hand, hat crooked, and felt absolutely nothing but pain from unstretched muscles suddenly working full-time.
Her phone alarm went off.
Shuli came bounding over. “You did it!”
Carmen grunted.
She trudged back toward Max’s Burgers, jug still in hand.
Shuli trotted along beside her, positively glowing with pride. “That was incredible! Quick thinking, using the shop like that! I really didn't expect—”
“How,” Carmen said, staring ahead at the Max’s Burgers giant red sign, “is this my life?”
******
Sirens screamed into the square—a full three minutes too late, tires screeching, doors flung open before the cars had even fully stopped. Officers in tactical gear spilled out in a tight, practiced formation, guns raised.
“WHERE IS IT?” the same regular cop from earlier bellowed, the one who’d sprinted the opposite direction with a walkie-talkie glued to his face. He’d circled back once it sounded safe. “IS ANYONE HURT? WHERE'S THE THREAT?”
A woman said, “It’s gone.”
The tactical team lowered their guns, slightly.
“…Gone-gone? Like, handled?”
“Someone sprayed it with weed killer,” the woman said. “I got it all on my phone.”
There was a long pause.
“…Oh, no. How sad. We got here as fast as we could too. Someone beat us to it,” a squad member said theatrically, to no one in particular. Another clicked his radio. “All units stand down, civilian resolution, we’re good, we’re good—we’re off the hook.”