Sustainascrub's Dark Secret

The stairs sagged under the weight of the portly man, the bald crown of his sweat soaked head gleamed in the swinging lights above him. They rattled on brittle chains, the draft of the old warehouse nudging them in perpetual motion. "Tsk" the man said, as he lugged the oblong package up to the office, "What a day."

"Hello?" he calls out, as his thick hand pushes the door open. Inside sits Moxie Marco, the cunning bride of Fiddles Marco. Fiddles had been a major league baseball player, when a knee injury caused him to retire at 24. Luckily for Moxie, he had promptly invested all of his savings into an eco-friendly beauty company; Sustainascrub. A spa treatment for you, and mother earth!

Well, it had all become Moxie's 10 years after they got married. In their bitter divorce she had been able to prove that the conceptual design was hers, and from there things got dark. She looked as sharp in person as she did in the papers, platinum blonde hair pulled smartly into a simple but elegant updo. "Who are you?" she responds coldly from behind her broad desk.

"The name's Bylar, I have a package for you." he replies, feeling his sweating intensify. The woman was a legend, one of the greatest illusions of all time. Moxie astutely observed the lowest percentages needed to claim something was organic, ethically sourced, or natural. When these numbers inhibited her desired profit margin, she found a way to fudge the numbers further. The belle of every gala, Moxie made facts where needed. Bylar shook at the sight of her.

Photo by alanajordan
"How did you get in here anyhow?" Rapid, like a whip; Moxie reaches for the button under her desk offhandedly. Scrutinizing Bylar, her expression seems to soften as the fear sets in. The panic button doesn't summon a voice over the speakers, he shouldn't be here.

"I let myself in miss, something you should be familiar with." Bylar sneers, dropping the package onto her desk with a massive bang. "Open it." he stares at her, all the toxic properties of her latest lip balm in his gaze. The tarp-like outer wrapping oozes, the impact must have caused a fissure.

Before she can make a choice, the liquid spills onto Moxie's lap; a loud hiss sending pink steam into the air. Bylar cannot see her agony as she screams, but he knows her experience. Stepping back, he recalls how her factories moved into his hometown. Pink waste mixing into the water, coming back out as something else. His kids come home again.

Becca's crying as he washes the pink tinge off of her in the tub, futile. "I should've listened papa." she sobs, her mutated face garbling the words. "You told me to stay away from the reservoir..." Bylar stumbles back out of the office, remembering what it felt like to tell a 10-year-old she would have these traits for life. Moxie screams, yet it isn't enough.