Fiction based on ¡Viva La Gloria!/¿Viva La Gloria? by Green Day

            He found her in the alley next to the Salvation Army. He walks up slowly, checking to see if she has anything valuable with her. Crap, she’s armed! The bum makes his escape, falling over a trash can on his way out of the alley. Gloria’s eyes flicker open in a flash, her hands grabbing the shears and holding them in front of her. Her bloodshot eyes search up and down the alley for trouble. “Damn it,” Gloria mutters under her breath. Her eyes meet the sky as tears fall down her cheeks.

            She is sitting in front of the Word document that lies before her. He comes up behind her, looking over her shoulder. “Christie, this won’t work,” he says, “she’s never coming back.” Christie glares at her husband. “Don’t you dare say that. She may not be your daughter, but she’s still mine and she belongs at home. She’s only fifteen; she’ll realize that she needs me and she’ll come home.” Christie wipes her moist eyes with the back of her hand. “Christian, I need to finish editing this flyer and I want to do it alone,” Christie says, monotone. “Whatever,” Christian grumbles. He leaves the room and Christie lets the tears roll out of her blue eyes. “Gloria,” she whispers, “where are you Gloria?”

            One month earlier, Gloria is sitting on her bed, listening to the familiar shouting. “Christian, how could you!?” “You provoked me, you stupid-” Gloria blasts the music coming from her headphones. She doesn’t need to hear this again. She unzips the Green Day backpack next to her and rifles through it; wallet, Cheese Nips, shears, extra clothes, and shoes. Gloria gets up and reaches under her bed for the fire escape ladder as “Jesus of Suburbia” begins playing. “Thanks for being paranoid, mom,” she whispers. Gloria slips her backpack onto her shoulders and glances at the cell phone plugged into the wall. “No, they would be able to track me,” she mumbles. She opens her window and fastens the ladder to the windowsill. Stealthily, she climbs down. On the grass, she pulls the ladder down and hides it under a rosebush. When she reaches the end of the street, Gloria looks back at her house. “Goodbye, mom,” she says softly. She walks into the night, searching for a bus stop as Billie Joe serenades to her. “You’re leavin’, you’re leavin’, you’re leavin’, ahh you’re leavin’ home.”

            A week has gone by since Gloria left her home by the river. She has made it to Queens, New York. “$3.58. Miss?” “Oh, sorry,” Gloria says to the boy behind the counter. “How much more do I need?” she asks, rifling through her pockets for more money. “Eighteen cents,” the cashier responds. Gloria sets a dime and a nickel on the counter. “Sorry,” she mumbles, trying to find three more cents. “Don’t worry about it,” the boy says, “you’re all set.” “Thank you so much,” Gloria responds, taking her hot chocolate and blueberry muffin. “No problem,” the boy replies as Gloria heads off to an empty table. She makes her choice and sets her backpack down next to her seat. Gloria sighs as she breaks off a piece of muffin. Chewing, she searches through her belongings for the money she thought she had left but comes up empty handed. Gloria scans the bakery for possible threats as she sips her steamy beverage. She has quickly learned that the city is a rough place with heartless, unforgiving people inhabiting it; the cashier was an exception. Gloria feels her heavy eyes drooping, but she cannot drift into slumber in this warm, almost comforting, place. The last time she had fallen asleep in an eatery, she had woken up to a dirty old man trying to walk off with her backpack. Gloria has caused a scene and was kicked out. “At least I got my stuff back,” she had thought. Now, devouring her muffin, she wonders how she can get more money; the only food she has, other than the vanishing muffin, is the bag of Cheese Nips in her backpack. Gloria is also pondering when she will be able to shower. She sighs again and glances out of the large glass window that is before her. All of a sudden, Gloria sees a woman wearing barely any clothing get into the passenger seat of a black Honda. Gloria makes her decision; she will become a prostitute, just like that woman. She stuffs the half-eaten muffin into her backpack and goes of in search of a man who will give her money in exchange for her body.

            “How didn’t we notice sooner?” Christie wails, “she’s my only daughter!” “She’s always up in her room; it’s not surprising we didn’t notice she’s gone,” Christian states matter-of-factly. Christie cries louder and Christian rolls his eyes. “I’m going to New York next week,” he says, “I’ll look for her there.” “How the hell could Gloria make it all the way to New York?” Christie shrieks. “She’s only fifteen!” Christian sighs angrily. “Fine, I won’t look for her.” He stomps out of the room, slamming the door on his way out. Christie curls into a ball and continues to sob.

            He is in a bar in Queens. His eyes scan the room in search of a hooker. He believes that if you’re paying for it, it doesn’t count as cheating. Haphazardly, he zones in on a younger one, breasts hardly covered; her skirt is also very skimpy. He smirks as he walks over. “The younger they are, the cuter they are,” he thinks to himself. “Hey baby,” he coos, “you looking for a good time?” The girl turns to face him and her jaw drops. “Christian!?”

            Gloria can’t believe her eyes. “He found me,” she thinks, panicking, “he’s going to bring me back.” To her surprise, Christian chuckles and puts his large arm around her. “Well well well,” Christian sneers, “fancy seeing you here. I always knew you were a little slut.” “Excuse me?” Gloria questions furiously.  “You heard me,” Christian says, “Come on now, if you’re nice to me I won’t take you home.” Gloria, realizing there is no other alternative, follows her stepfather into his car.

            He can’t believe his luck; he is finally getting what he wants, and there is no way that Christie could find out. He pulls the car into a motel and exits the vehicle. He helps Gloria out of the car, putting his arm around her shoulder. “Your mother is worried about you,” Christian tells Gloria, leading her to his room. “Is she?” Gloria asks, monotone. “Mhmm,” he mumbles in response. “So, what is this going to cost me? You need to be nice to me and I’ll be nice to you.” “I don’t understand,” Gloria says, puzzled. “Oh, you will.” Christian’s face darkens as he tosses his prey onto the bed. Gloria gasps as the two hundred pounds of muscle that is her stepfather tears her clothes off. She tried getting up, but she is overpowered and ties to the bedposts. “Please,” Gloria pleads, tears in her eyes, “Don’t.” “Shut up,” Christian snarls, slapping Gloria across the face. She tries screaming for help but he is on top of her. Gloria’s true nightmare begins with a kiss.

            He falls on top of her, exhausted. It has been twenty four hours of fun for him, the most fun he’s had in years. He kisses his stepdaughter softly. “That was fun, wasn’t it?” he coos into her ear. He gets up, squeezing her one last time. Gloria whimpers and Christian laughs, tossing $1000 onto her stomach. “I hope that covers it,” he whispers cruelly. Gloria turns her head away, sniveling. “I’ll see you next week,” Christian says, smiling ear to ear. He loosens the rope around Gloria’s wrists, and all of a sudden she tosses the money into her backpack and pulls out the hidden shears inside. She stands on the bed blood running down her bare legs. “You whore,” Christian snarls.

            “Get out and I won’t cut your head off,” Gloria growls. “Fine,” Christian remarks, “but I’ll be back for you.” “NOW!” Gloria shrieks. He leaves and Gloria falls onto the bed, exhausted. She examines the rope burns around her wrists disgustedly. “That goddamn…” she trails off. Her eyes scan the room and they land on the bathroom. “Finally,” Gloria says to herself, “a shower.” She stumbles to the door and throws herself into the shower. A squeak of the handle and Gloria is instantly smothered in water.

            After carefully washing her injuries, Gloria exits the calming shower. Eyeliner, mascara, hair brushed and she runs away from the motel, stopping for nothing. Blood still streams from her wounds and blackened tears stream down her face.

            Seven days pass and her husband returns home. “Did you find any trace of Gloria?” Christie asks hopefully. “No,” Christian lies, “nothing.” Christie’s hope shatters.

            She has created a home for herself inside a large cardboard box, sheltered in an alley. The people inside the Salvation Army were kind to her, another rare occurrence in the city. “I’m moving,” she had lied, “do you have any large boxes I could have?” “Now I have a home,” she thinks to herself, curling into a ball. She falls asleep with her shears in a second’s reach.

             One more week passes, and he finds her in the alley next to the Salvation Army. He walks up slowly, checking to see if she has anything valuable with her. Crap, she’s armed! The bum makes his escape, falling over a trash can on his way out of the alley. Gloria’s eyes flicker open in a flash, her hands grabbing the shears and holding them in front of her. Her bloodshot eyes search up and down the alley for trouble. “Damn it,” Gloria mutters under her breath. Her eyes meet the sky as tears fall down her cheeks. “That’s the third one today.”

            Christie is going crazy. “Christian, I haven’t worked in a month. I need to find Gloria!” She runs up to the bedroom. “Where are you going?” Christian yells up the stairs. “To make more flyers,” is the response.

            She is on a bus, deep in thought. An old woman sees her. “Little girl?” she asks. Gloria didn’t hear her, so the woman speaks up. “Little girl, why are you crying?” Gloria looks over at the woman. “I’m just homesick,” Gloria mumbles. “Well,” says the old woman, “there is no place like home.” Both smile at each other, and the old woman goes back to her knitting.

            The bus ride took days, and the walk was even longer. Blisters cover her feet, but she doesn’t care. She needs to get home; her real home, not that moldy box. She knocks on the front door and Christie answers. Neither of them speak; they just let the tears fall. “Gloria?” Christie asks, in shock. “Hi, mom,” Gloria says as she rushes into her mother’s arms.

            Two hours have passed since her return. “So…” Gloria mumbles, “where’s Christian?” Christie’s eyes water, and she pulls her daughter into an embrace. “He told me what he did to you. I called the police. He’ll never be able to hurt you again, Gloria.” Gloria buried her face into her mother’s shoulder. Gloria’s true nightmare ends with her mother’s kiss.