by Josie Walker
Are you a little emotional right now? Because the ending of this book goes straight to my heart muscle and has me grabbing for the Kleenex!
I’m kind of up in the air about my writing/release schedule right now, so if you haven’t already done so please come vote in my book poll for what series you want to see next!
http://josiewalkerbooks.com/index.php/2019/06/22/which-series-do-you-want-more-of/
Josie Walker
Christina’s life is going according to plan until she falls off a dumpster and into another dimension.
Turn the page for sample chapters, or go get your copy at:
http://josiewalkerbooks.com/index.php/my-savage-alien-rescuer-parallel-dimensions-series-book-1/
CHAPTER ONE
CHRISTINA
I stretched my back and yawned, pushing my bright red hair out of my face. I’d already been awake for three hours and, of course, I’d started working the moment I rolled over and my brain clicked on. I suppose you could say it’s one of my more annoying personality traits, but once I’m awake there’s no turning back and I launch immediately into work mode.
Personally, I chose to appreciate the fact that it allowed me to get optimal productivity levels out of each and every day. I was aware that some people couldn’t even speak until they’d had at least three cups of coffee, but hey, to each their own.
This industrious quirk of mine might have been a problem if I didn’t live alone. But I didn’t even have a pet to be annoyed by my workaholic nature so it’s all good. I clicked “command S” to save my file and then closed the lid of my MacBook Pro.
I still needed to pick out music and design a thumbnail, but I was mostly done with my video on how to make a garbage can out of old magazines. The project had turned out even cuter than I’d imagined it would. I briefly considered keeping the project, but if I saved all of my crafts I would need a warehouse to hold them all.
I padded over to the fridge and groaned when I saw the line of Post-it notes I’d placed there to remind me that I needed to go grocery shopping. I pulled open the door to the fridge anyway, but all that greeted me was a bunch of half empty condiment jars. As depressing as the barren sight was, it didn’t really surprise me.
This wasn’t the first time I’d found myself in this particular situation. I sometimes imagine a world where high-tech futuristic robots replace my food stocks without me even having to ask, but I probably won’t be around by the time the fictional cartoon Jetsons’ fabulous life becomes reality. And I most definitely cannot afford a personal shopper.
So that left me with the present reality. Unless I wanted to try mixing ketchup and mayonnaise to make the world’s most disgusting tomato soup concoction, I wasn’t going to be finding breakfast anywhere in my kitchen. Given the fact that I’m very much a creature of habit it wasn’t likely to be the last occurrence either.
I worked for myself, and to say that I’m a little obsessive would be the world’s largest understatement. I ran a successful YouTube crafting channel, which meant my house was stocked with every type of tool and creative medium you could imagine. I could make any craft imaginable, so long as it wasn’t edible anyway.
But food and toilet paper . . . those items were much harder to keep in stock. Not for the first time I considered starting up some kind of food vlog, not because I knew the first thing about cooking, but because at least then I could count on eating on a somewhat regular basis.
I had no idea what to do about the toilet paper conundrum. Was it possible to have such an item delivered without it costing ridiculous amounts? I could imagine heaps of unopened Amazon boxes piling up on my doorstep when I forgot to go outside to retrieve them. With my luck the neighbors would steal it all, and then I would still find myself S.O.L.
I groaned and headed towards the shower. I had put it off as long as possible; I was going to have to shed the baggy sweats and t-shirt and clean up. People recognized me when I went out now, which was awesome except for the fact that it took me two hours to look as cute and together as I did on camera.
Most of the time I didn’t even bother to shower or get dressed because there was always more work to do, and I was the only one to do it. Most of my videos just showed close-ups of my hands except for the very beginning and end clips. So, I typically knocked out several video intros at once to avoid having to get glammed up as often. That way I didn’t have to get full body pretty so long as my nails looked good.
Honestly, I spent most of my time sitting on my butt in front of my computer going through hours and hours of footage and condensing it down into watchable portions. Lately, I’d been considering outsourcing some of the editing, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to invite someone else into the jumbled mess that was my life. Every room but the bathroom of my house was set up to film in. I had numerous filming sets so that my fans wouldn’t get bored watching me in the same spot all the time.
Entering the shower, I sighed as I stepped under the powerful spray. The hot water felt fantastic. The days’ old buildup of hairspray I had to scrub out of my scalp must have weighed several pounds because I felt physically lighter after I finished the onerous chore. I did my best to avoid glancing over at the giant mirrors that seemed to cover every inch of the walls in the bathroom.
They’d been there when I’d moved in, and although they were extremely helpful for doing my hair and makeup, I hated seeing myself naked. The last thing I needed was to see how many more pounds had crept onto my unforgiving ass and thighs. My body didn’t seem to care how little time I spent eating, or how few calories I actually consumed.
My evil DNA had decided I was going to carry around plus size curves without ever bothering to consult me. So my go-to strategy was to never ever look at myself if I didn’t have to. Editing myself with pretty clothes and makeup on video was hard enough, I didn’t need to see the X-rated version too.
I wrapped a towel around myself and then winced at the faint mildew smell wafting off of it. So, I decided to grab a fresh one. I reached for the door to the towel closet and saw another of my “helpful” Post-it notes alerting me to the fact that I needed to do laundry. I bit my lip in frustration; please let me have clean underwear!
Some days I can’t help but feel like the universe has it out for me. Every last pair of underwear was dirty, even the pairs that were really too tight, as well as my hideously stained period panties. All of this was steadily clueing me in to the fact that this day was not going to go well. As much as I wanted to crawl back into bed and start over, I knew that wouldn’t help. I had to go shopping, clean underwear or no.
Muttering under my breath about hiring a maid, I tossed a load of clothes into the washer and started it. Of course, I couldn’t afford to hire someone to clean for me, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t pretend. Even if I used the fast wash, there wouldn’t be anything ready in time for today’s outing. Ugh.
I blow dried my hair, and painted my face on. Too bad I didn’t have time for makeup every day because I always enjoyed the results in the end. I looked so good that I was considering filming a quick video intro or two when my stomach rumbled, reminding me of why I’d bothered bathing in the first place. Oh yeah, I needed groceries.
I pulled a colorful maxi dress out of the closet. It was one of my favorites, because I’d made it myself. It consisted entirely of fabric scraps, none of which had been larger than three inches in diameter. It had been one of my earlier attempts at quilting and it had turned out surprisingly well.
Smiling, I tugged it over my head and turned to assess my reflection in the mirror. The dress hugged my full breasts in the most flattering of ways, tapered in at the dip in my waist, and then flared out dramatically, thus ensuring that the substantial nature of my ass and thighs remained a mystery to the general public.
Now for the hard decision: I could wear gross dirty underwear, wet clean underwear, or attempt something I’d
never done before . . . commando. I shocked even myself when I opted on sans panties. Was there some sex starved goddess waiting inside me to come out, or did the inner me just long to stay both clean and dry?
I grabbed my giant purse that’s more like a small suitcase than an actual handbag. It wasn’t the most fashionable of accessories, and it could be murder on my back, but I needed it so that was that. Most of my crafts were made from found objects, so my bag had duplicates of half of the tools on my craft sets.
I had everything from scissors, to screwdrivers, to pliers in my bag. Picking up people’s unwanted junk and somehow cramming it into my trunk was all part of my job. I’d considered buying a full sized van or a truck on more than one occasion, but had never quite been able to resign myself to driving something so ugly, or spending the money!
Whatever I made on my show served double duty in the income department. First off, I made revenue from the ads people were subjected to as they watched my crafting tutorials. Thankfully, most of my viewers were either too kind or too lazy to click “skip” on the ads placed in my videos. Those views were what kept my rent and my utilities paid.
My second revenue stream didn’t gross as much money, but was still worth the effort. Each project I completed was carefully photographed and then listed for sale in my Etsy store. I was still surprised at how many people liked watching my videos, but didn’t actually want to do the projects themselves. For those particular fans, my Etsy store was awesome because it allowed them to buy my one-of-a-kind creations without forcing them to put in the work. It was literally the best of both worlds for someone who wanted unique upcycled art and home goods.
I made a quick dash around the house gathering up Post-it reminders as I went so that I could put off the next shopping hassle as long as possible. Yikes, I was even out of duct tape and white thread. That’s the equivalent of a print store running out of copy paper . . . which apparently I’d run out of too.
I sighed as I tossed my bag in the passenger seat and clicked the garage door opener. It was going to be a long day. First things first, I hit the Starbucks drive-thru because even though most people had moved on to lunch by this point, my stomach was still craving the most important meal of the day. I ordered extra cream cheese for my bagel and sipped happily on my latte.
Now that I had something in my stomach, I was able to think clearer. I decided to shop for my craft supplies first because, unlike my perishables, they wouldn’t melt in the hot sun. As I navigated my way through the seemingly endless aisles, I answered comments from my YouTube fans, something I tried to do every day or they had a tendency to build up fast. I was three comments in before I realized I’d overlooked something crucial.
It was my birthday. The ultra crappy one I’d been dreading for years. Damn you, social media. I glared at the screen where someone had sent me an e-card with the dancing thirty balloons. And that’s all it took to make me wish I could go back in time just long enough to swap out my bagel for a donut. No, make that a dozen donuts, this was way bigger than a one donut catastrophe.
I was thirty years old now, which might not have been such a big deal if it weren’t for the fact that I was also single. There’s no way that wasn’t going to send me on a downward spiral. My uterus timer was beeping loudly in my ear, reminding me anxiously that there were only so many years left for me to pop out babies, as if I could have forgotten!
I paused by a display of soft fleece baby blanket material and my eyes started to water. I’d always wanted children, but I certainly couldn’t make one alone. Where were all the good guys? All I knew was they weren’t hanging out at the craft store. Trust me, I’d spent more than my fair share of time looking.
And I’d yet to bump into Prince Charming at the grocery store either. And therein lay the crux of my issues: I didn’t get out enough. If I had a normal job maybe I would already be married with half a dozen kids. But I loved working for myself, and didn’t want to give that up. Maybe I needed to get out more and meet more people.
But when exactly was I supposed to make that happen? I didn’t have time to hunt down a man! I had to keep my business running or I couldn’t afford to buy essentials like hot glue sticks and Mod Podge, let alone groceries.
Sure, I’d tried a few dating apps, but the only men who’d bothered to click on my profile had been complete duds. I wasn’t so lonely that I was willing to settle for just anyone. Was it too much to expect some sparks and sizzles? Had I missed my window? Was it too late for love?
I was getting more depressed by the second. Oh great, now I wanted donuts and ice cream. Knowing my body I’d probably gain five pounds just from thinking about ice cream, so I might as well give in and buy a few cartons.
I finished up and checked out at the craft store. I may or may not have added a couple of candy bars into the mix at the last second. And I may or may not have eaten one in the car on the drive to the next store. Judge me if you will.
Next up on my crappy agenda was groceries. I got a terrible parking spot and tried to pretend it was a good thing because maybe it would help me burn off the extra cream cheese and the candy bar; alright I admit it, I ate the candy bar! I hope you’re happy because I very much was not.
I moved through the aisles of the grocery store like a mindless zombie. Except for the jumbo-sized toilet paper and Kleenex I didn’t really pay much attention to what I added to the cart. My helpful Post-it notes sat in a useless wad in my giant purse. I wasn’t ever all that interested in food when I got depressed.
I knocked a bunch of Weight Watchers TV dinners into my cart, trying to focus on the fact that I might be hungry tomorrow and how I wouldn’t want to go out shopping again. And then I wheeled over to the display case with the Weight Watchers desserts and tossed several of those into my cart as well. I was already feeling guilty about the candy bar that was no doubt already settling down to stay in my jumbo-sized thighs forever.
I slid my purchases up onto the conveyor belt and stared morosely at the bakery section from afar. I refused to buy myself a birthday cake. There was no way that wouldn’t blow up in my face. Either I’d attack the thing and risk my stomach exploding from the awful binge, or I’d wind up eating the thing by myself over the course of an entire week. Yeah, nothing like a depressing reminder on my counter in case I forgot I was now officially in my thirties. Not going to happen.
I swiped my card and politely refused help out to my car because the mom in line behind me with the two toddlers needed it way more than I did. I was so jealous of the woman that I could almost understand what drove desperate people to kidnapping, not that I would ever do anything so awful! But if I could have traded lives with her right then and there . . . well, I just might have considered it.
It was the day before garbage pick-up in my area, so I drove a little slower than I normally did, busy scanning the trash piles for any treasures, just waiting to be discovered. I was always looking for the raw materials I made my upcycled art pieces out of. I was passing by a small strip mall when I saw something interesting poking out of the back of a dumpster. It was too big to be in there, whatever it was.
I parked nearby and shot a quick video of the dumpster, voicing my various theories about what it might be. Whenever possible I tried to include extra behind-the-scenes footage of me grabbing various junk out of dumpsters and off the curb. My fans had mentioned repeatedly how much they enjoyed being a part of the journey. Too bad I didn’t have a tripod with me or an assistant, because then I could have captured the real time segment of me pulling whatever it was out of the dumpster.
Satisfied with my footage, I returned to the car and put my phone back inside my purse. Then I looped it over one arm so that I wouldn’t have to return to the car for any tools after having already climbed up into the gross dumpster. On impulse I stuffed the new container of duct tape and the rest of my most recent purchases inside my giant purse.
As proof of how
frequently I go dumpster diving I kept a little step stool in my trunk for exactly that reason. I glanced down woefully at my pretty dress and regretted that I hadn’t worn something more practical. Sure, I could have just driven off and stayed clean, but what if I missed out on something spectacular?
I was especially ruing the fact that I’d not opted for the wet underwear option. Odds were it would have dried out by now, and I would be a hell of a lot more decent if a strong breeze blew my dress up to my ears. But there was nothing I could do about any of that now. Sure, I could go home and change, but there was no guarantee that my mystery garbage treasure would still be there when I came back for it. I wasn’t the only person who saw value in trash. Nope, it had to be now!
“Happy birthday to me,” I muttered as I took the first step up. I swung my other arm through my giant bag so that both my hands were free but also so I could still access my tools if I needed them. I tried to balance on the edge of the dumpster because, based on the smell of rot wafting out to greet me, I really didn’t want to roll around in whatever was in there.
Then I held my breath; and, believe it or not, it was because I was excited, not because of the smell. I think I’ve already established that I’m a total nut job, so I won’t bother analyzing that further. Queue the celestial music; I was pretty sure I’d just found something I’d wanted for a very, very, very long time.
All I could see was the hint of a wooden wheel poking out from the mess of trash bags. I considered taking another brief chunk of video, but my balance was a bit precarious so I decided not to push it. I tried to brace my hand on the wall of the building, but it was too far away to be of any use.
I was trying not to get my hopes up, but there was a small chance that I might just have found myself an antique spinning wheel. Cleaned up and refurbished, I’d probably be able to profit upwards of $1000 on it. Of course, the potential value didn’t really matter because if I’d just found what I thought I had, I had no intention of selling it. Like not ever.