ritual (Life: 1/?)

It started an hour before she was going to head out.

It didn’t matter whether it was out for a bite to eat or to meet someone (or to meat someone), whatever she was doing… One hour before she left that big door she was getting ready.

She would stretch first. Her long tan legs out in front of her, then to the side — doing the splits… keeping limber.

Crunches, pull ups and thirty seconds of jump-rope got the blood flowing and a small sweat up. She stayed in shape for herself. She took pride in her body, kept it tight and flexible. It was a good body that would turn many an eye.

After she wouldn’t shower — that was for after — plus she liked to keep the sweat up. So it was straight to getting dressed.

A quick peep through the crack in the window would let her see the weather.

You had to dress accordingly, this was something she took very seriously; the last thing she needed was getting caught out wearing the wrong sort of footwear. The last thing.

The same went for bottoms too. If it was going to be a busy day then shorts were worn. If there was any doubt, shorts were the answer - the extra manoeuvrability they gave was crucial.

She always wore her hair in a tight bun. It looked quite practical, but still kind of cute.
She went for this look specifically; you never knew who you were going to meet… Despite the absurdity, she always took at least 15 minutes on her hair and face.

And then the final step was just a matter of choosing the right gear:

There were something like fifteen pairs of glasses she had accumulated; even some goggles. It never hurt to protect your eyes…

Sometimes she wore a mask, though these days she had been getting over her fear of catching anything airborne. She had come this far, right?

And that was it. Her satchel on her back (just incase she found anything interesting). Her handgun (a six shooter she called, ‘Betsy’), a shotgun (‘Nigel’) strung over her shoulder and her machete in hand (‘Claire’).

It took five minutes to open up the inner door, seal it again and then open front door, but it was worth the hassle — you can’t knock that extra security it gave you, especially when trying to get some shut eye.

As soon as she had the last board down, she was out the gate like a greyhound. Sprinting the 20 metres to the car and speeding away before any one of them could register where she had come from.

That was her ritual. Everyone has one, and this one was hers. It was a good ritual, she thought. It worked.