No Silver Lining at the Crack of a Whip

This seedy city isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Fortune, fame, murder, and scandals. It’s a town of legends, a pavilion of gods. A silver-lining dream to a thieve’s great fortune of snatching the last nickle for a sixty-minute block of entertainment, and you know what, I’m one of them...

My eyes savor the venue of studios through the open blinds.

There's a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

Charlene glides into the room, takes a seat before my desk, lapping one succulent leg over the other, and strikes a piercing gaze into my eyes with those vapid blues of hers.

“So, Donny, what’s shakin’?”

Rubbing hands together, I throw in the pitch, “How would you like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?”

“Educate me.”

“I need you to do an interactive television bit. Let me show you what I have in mind.” I slide open the desk drawer, pull out a magazine, and toss it across the desk.

There's a restrained sense of curiosity about Charlene’s face as she studies the cover. “Weird Tales... Tiger Cat... Who’s she?”

“Why that’s you, Toots.”

“She looks nothing like me...” She flips through the magazine. “Science fiction stories of the cult variety. Far cry from the literary canon.” Charlene tosses the magazine aside. “You look peaked. I sensed an air of desperation the moment I walked in here.”

“Paint me red and call me a rose if you don’t have a sixth sense about character.” I stand up, discomfort rattling my nerves. “Look. There’s a shoot tonight and I need a leading lady.”

“I’ll do so under one circumstance: I get top billing, which should be a handful of peanuts considering this production company.”

“You do drive a hard bargain.” She has me pinned by her vice grip, such the deceptive succubus. “Have it your way.”

“May I see the script?” She asks, and I deaden. “Now don’t tell me this is an Improv. Drive a steak through my heart... Can I at least get the synopsis?”

“You’re Tiger Cat, fending off voracious men who want to feed off every ounce of you. This will make you, the epitome of the very woman every housewife dreams of being, a heroic figure who has the world as her oyster! I’m telling, you the sky’s the limit after this production.”

Charlene feigns interest, “One who meanders life without occasionally playing Good Samaritan leads a life terribly wasted. Sign me on.”


* * *


Hot bulbs shine on a stage before a live studio audience.

A large“Applaud” light signals the spectators to clap in waves of excitement.

Spokesman Carl Davies runs up stage, bearing a crud-eating grin with sparkly white teeth, and speaks into a microphone. “This is KCX-TV 6, broadcasting a live televised production of Minute Terrors, here at Studio 8 of Fairview Studios. This is a new interactive show, created by yours truly, Donny Macmillan. Let us give him a round of applause!”

I watch the crowd cheer from the office box looking down at the set.

“Now let us introduce our leading lady tonight, Charlene Claire. You may recognize her in such commercials as Glisten-Teeth toothpaste, and in the short Misadventures of a Bad Hair Day.” Charlene Claire runs on stage, donning a silken white dress, gracefully waving at the audience with a beaming smile. “She will be playing Tiger Cat. This is not for the kiddies, nor the faint of heart. Viewer discretion is advised!”

Lights dim. Carl begins the monologue, “Tiger Cat, a lounge act singer, has had her whole life transformed the minute she noticed a mob laundering money to house an underground casino. The mob knows exactly what to do with Peeping Toms... They bring her to a castle an hour out of town, and throw her in this very dungeon. It is here where she will meet the fate of all those who had compromised their hidden agenda: gathering all resources to form the Fourth Reich. What they do not know is Tiger Lady is unlike anyone they have crossed. Resilient and resourceful, Tiger Lady will face anything crossing her path and destroy it.”

Charlene waltzes across stage in black high heels, and approaches a brick wall of two sconces; between which stand four weapon types clamped into the wall.


Guttural growls surround the studio via loudspeakers, causing women to shriek and men to bounces off their seats.

Carl announces, “Lo! There is the wretched sound of the undead, creeping out of their graves! Tiger Cat, realizing what is to come, must think fast! Here they come, through the gate!” A prop gate opens up, dark silhouettes slowly motion within. “She has four weapons at her disposal. Should she use A: the axe? B: the sword? C: the club? or D: the whip? Cast in your votes.” The undead creep closer to Tiger Cat. “Five... Four... Three... Two... One... Let us see what weapon will make or break Tiger Cat!” He regards a sign that blinks with buzzer, “D”. “The whip!”

The whip unhinges and drops to the floor. Charlene hesitates, and reaches for the axe, tugging it with no give. She repeats the same to the sword and the club before resolving to the whip. The undead creep closer.

Charlene picks up the whip, cracks it at the enfolding colony of extras. It’s futile. They pour over her. She stumbles, drops the whip, her hand reaches for help in a gut-wrenching scream.

Those extras I outsourced to save a buck are quite convincing.

A harrowing shriek escapes the audience, a woman shouts, pointing at center stage. Disjointed limbs rise up from the colony at feast.

My eyes savor the mass hysteria below of Shock TV at its zenith.

Yes, this seedy city isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Fortune, fame, murder, and scandals. It’s a town of legends, a pavilion of gods. A silver-lining dream to a thieve’s great fortune of snatching the last nickle for a sixty-minute block of entertainment, and you know what, I’m one of them...