Read Online Poseur #4: All That Glitters Is Not Gucci by Rachel Maude - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rachel Maude
Tags: JUV006000
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Employing something called “Goggle,” he revealed to me the following exclusive facts:
1. When not colluding with the NYLON heretics,
Schizo Montana
“designs and manufactures t-shirts.”
2. A t-shirt is a lightweight pullover shirt, close fitting, with a round neckline and short sleeves.
Still, my cheated chickens, my unhappiest hatchlings,
we must not despair
. Before the kingdom, Valentino was bankrupt. Before she was a legend, Chanel was a steel welder. True stars are not always
immediately recognized, my lovelies. And the greatest stars burn brighter with time.
To standing on the shoulder pads of giants!
Teddy
The Girl: Miss Paletsky
The Getup: What difference does it make anymore?
The snow fell from the black night sky, drifting like ash, blanketing the landscape in eerie quiet. Miss Paletsky blinked
as the slushy granules stung her eyes. Icy gusts of wind penetrated her thin wool coat and gnawed her bones like a dog, bored
and deadly. She was on her back, looking up, and gripping a cold metal rail; her fingers stuck like tongues. Where
was
she?
As if to answer, the hard plank under her spine began to gently vibrate, and the iron rail to hum. In the faraway distance,
there was a long and ghostly wail.
A train
, she realized, and then the whole world began to quake. Planks clattered like broken rattles. The iron rail screamed. Miss
Paletsky struggled to move, but she couldn’t budge.
With horror, Miss Paletsky saw the train burst through the gray wall of drifting snow and come barreling toward her, blinding
her with its light. Black clouds churned from its tall black smokestack.
The conductor angled his face out of the window.
Ch’elp!
Miss Paletsky attempted to scream, but only produced the tiniest of squeaks, like a mouse flung by its tail through an open
kitchen window. The conductor’s thick ham hock of an arm waved wildly through the smoke.
He seesme!
Miss Paletsky realized, praying for a squeal of brakes, the telltale shudder of iron and steel. She focused on the gesticulating
arm until, with dizzying clarity, a certain physical detail jumped out at her, obliterating all comfort.
She recognized that yellow armpit stain….
“Life is not Cinderella!” he cried as the train screamed in panic, rumbling closer and closer.
Yuri!
Miss Paletsky realized, a hot tear sliding from her eye.
Her life was officially kaput
.
But then, just as she’d made her peace with fate, a dark, cloaked figure swooped toward her and snatched her high into the
air. She landed with a thud, all the breath leaving her body, and then, in the same moment she thought that she was dead,
discovered herself thrown across a horse’s back. With a quavering sigh, she surrendered to the roiling, muscular surface,
breathing deep the earthy smell of animal sweat. The thundering sound of hooves met her ears like a lullaby.
Still, was she was safe? After all, she was not alone. A mysterious man sat mere inches away, his strong, straight torso like
a pillar. The back of his head offered her little clue: was he friend or foe? Savior or jailor? Here she was, tossed across
his horse like so much cargo; had her situation gotten worse?
Just then, a snowflake grazed her cheek, but instead of a feathery chill, it transferred actual warmth into her flesh.Timidly, she lifted her head, looking around. They were in a beautiful orchard. The snowflake wasn’t a snowflake after all,
but a cherry blossom. They were everywhere, drifting from branches, pirouetting in the sun, and thickly carpeting the ground.
It was spring.
Miss Paletsky relaxed, and her heart slowed to match the horse’s easy, peaceful pace. She glanced again at the man and trusted
him, allowing herself to admire his perfect posture, his tall fur hat, his polished black boots. Then, her curiosity got the
better of her. Harnessing her every ounce of courage, she tapped the mysterious horseman’s broad and powerful shoulder.
He began to turn
1. When not colluding with the NYLON heretics,
Schizo Montana
“designs and manufactures t-shirts.”
2. A t-shirt is a lightweight pullover shirt, close fitting, with a round neckline and short sleeves.
Still, my cheated chickens, my unhappiest hatchlings,
we must not despair
. Before the kingdom, Valentino was bankrupt. Before she was a legend, Chanel was a steel welder. True stars are not always
immediately recognized, my lovelies. And the greatest stars burn brighter with time.
To standing on the shoulder pads of giants!
Teddy
The Girl: Miss Paletsky
The Getup: What difference does it make anymore?
The snow fell from the black night sky, drifting like ash, blanketing the landscape in eerie quiet. Miss Paletsky blinked
as the slushy granules stung her eyes. Icy gusts of wind penetrated her thin wool coat and gnawed her bones like a dog, bored
and deadly. She was on her back, looking up, and gripping a cold metal rail; her fingers stuck like tongues. Where
was
she?
As if to answer, the hard plank under her spine began to gently vibrate, and the iron rail to hum. In the faraway distance,
there was a long and ghostly wail.
A train
, she realized, and then the whole world began to quake. Planks clattered like broken rattles. The iron rail screamed. Miss
Paletsky struggled to move, but she couldn’t budge.
With horror, Miss Paletsky saw the train burst through the gray wall of drifting snow and come barreling toward her, blinding
her with its light. Black clouds churned from its tall black smokestack.
The conductor angled his face out of the window.
Ch’elp!
Miss Paletsky attempted to scream, but only produced the tiniest of squeaks, like a mouse flung by its tail through an open
kitchen window. The conductor’s thick ham hock of an arm waved wildly through the smoke.
He seesme!
Miss Paletsky realized, praying for a squeal of brakes, the telltale shudder of iron and steel. She focused on the gesticulating
arm until, with dizzying clarity, a certain physical detail jumped out at her, obliterating all comfort.
She recognized that yellow armpit stain….
“Life is not Cinderella!” he cried as the train screamed in panic, rumbling closer and closer.
Yuri!
Miss Paletsky realized, a hot tear sliding from her eye.
Her life was officially kaput
.
But then, just as she’d made her peace with fate, a dark, cloaked figure swooped toward her and snatched her high into the
air. She landed with a thud, all the breath leaving her body, and then, in the same moment she thought that she was dead,
discovered herself thrown across a horse’s back. With a quavering sigh, she surrendered to the roiling, muscular surface,
breathing deep the earthy smell of animal sweat. The thundering sound of hooves met her ears like a lullaby.
Still, was she was safe? After all, she was not alone. A mysterious man sat mere inches away, his strong, straight torso like
a pillar. The back of his head offered her little clue: was he friend or foe? Savior or jailor? Here she was, tossed across
his horse like so much cargo; had her situation gotten worse?
Just then, a snowflake grazed her cheek, but instead of a feathery chill, it transferred actual warmth into her flesh.Timidly, she lifted her head, looking around. They were in a beautiful orchard. The snowflake wasn’t a snowflake after all,
but a cherry blossom. They were everywhere, drifting from branches, pirouetting in the sun, and thickly carpeting the ground.
It was spring.
Miss Paletsky relaxed, and her heart slowed to match the horse’s easy, peaceful pace. She glanced again at the man and trusted
him, allowing herself to admire his perfect posture, his tall fur hat, his polished black boots. Then, her curiosity got the
better of her. Harnessing her every ounce of courage, she tapped the mysterious horseman’s broad and powerful shoulder.
He began to turn
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