Crush story.
14-Mar-99 16:46:50

I haven't posted much lately since it's been winter and there've been no bugs around to be crushed. :-(
So, since most of the northern hemisphere is still bug-less, I thought I'd make up a fictional scenario to fill in the blanks. (Good to see Rachel's crush season is underway, tho... )
Note, if you folks would rather keep this board for real life crush experiences only, let me know and I won't post stuff like this agian...

* * *

"Hurry up, the show's about to begin," the head janitor, my boss, shouted, shoving me to get me moving. "They saw it near the front of the catwalk."
Muttering, I pushed my way through the well-dressed crowd and approached the catwalk. It was there all right, a two inch long cricket, sitting near the end of the runway.
A plague of the little vermin had descended upon the city last week and exterminators had been trying to wipe them out ever since.
Before I could dispose of this lone specimin however, the music came on and the fashion show began. I was pulled away from the catwalk and dumped into an empty chair by one of the ushers, who obviously assumed that I was a disoriented guest instead of a janitor.
I shrugged and made myself comfortable, seeing that I was now sitting eye level with the platform and had a perfect view of the unsuspecting cricket.
The line of supermodels emerged from backstage and began strutting down the runway wearing light summery outfits, short dresses and skirts.
With a sense of gleeful anticipation I stared at the cricket. He detected the vibrations of the models' footsteps and turned to face them. The fool just sat there, watching the towering beauties approach. I wondered how long he would last.
About two seconds, as it turned out.
Laetitia Casta, the lead model, stepped squarely onto him, crushing him flat beneath the sole of her high heeled sandal. Being a veteran crush freak with years of experience, my ears were able to pick out the tiny, moist ‘crunch!' from all the other background noise. As she stepped forward with her other foot, all her weight pressed down on the cricket and I saw his insides squirt out in a little blob from under the toe of her sexy sandal.
To give her credit, when she felt the bug crunch under her foot she didn't stop or look down to see what it was. She just kept facing forward, maintaining a look of goddess-like superiority.
I leaned forward a bit as she passed, seeing the poor cricket's body squashed into the floor, its juices forced out all around it in a jagged circle.
So that's that, I thought with a sigh. I had hoped that he might last longer and increase the suspense, but...
Something caught my eye, something dropping down onto the catwalk. It was another cricket, probably from the vent in the ceiling right above me.
I remembered that the exterminators had been on the roof earlier today, spraying the hordes of crickets up there with poison. Some of them must have managed to escape a lethal dosage by crawling into the vents.
The newly arrived cricket reeled drunkenly across the catwalk while numerous pairs of long bare legs strode back and forth around him. The models' pretty feet, all strapped in sexy sandals, stomped down just millimetres away from him.
Then his luck ran out as Yasmeen Ghauri planted a chunky-heeled mule firmly on top of him. Again I heard the satisfying crunch as she walked on him with her full weight, smashing him flat, and listened to the flap of the slip-on shoes against her bare heels as she continued on her way.

To my delight, more crickets continued to drop down onto the killing field, right into the path of the world's most beautiful women. The bugs were too weak from the poison to jump out of the way and could only crawl slowly towards the edges of the catwalk. Most of them didn't make it.
As the models changed outfits and came back onto the runway in a smoothly orchestrated rotation, I decided to keep a running score of their kills.
I asked a fashion writer beside me for a pen and paper. She eyed me warily, but provided the materials. A waiter, believing that I had to be someone extremely high up in the fashion industry for me to show up at this exclusive soiree wearing such an outrageous outfit as my janitor's uniform, handed me a glass of expensive scotch.

I leaned forward again to observe the action more closely, just as a cricket disappeared beneath Nikki Taylor's sandal at the end of the runway. She stopped, striking a sexy pose for the photographers. Then the bug's little body was crushed into an unrecognisable smear as she twisted her foot around and started walking back down the runway, oblivious to the carnage her feet had caused.
The women began to model the formal outfits now, the longer, elegant dresses which reached to mid-calf.

One cricket got stepped on by Tyra Banks and was carried away with her, impaled on the slender four inch stilletto heel of her pump. Karen Mulder pulverised another under the sole of her shoe, barely missing his little friend an inch in front of him. He didn't have long to grieve however, because Elle MacPherson crushed his upper body five seconds later, leaving his lower half twitching behind her as she stepped off him.
I reviewed my scoring sheet and saw that Yasmeen Ghauri's tally was far greater than the others, so I watched her face the next time she approached. She was wearing a black dress and wore a pair of very high heeled black sandals that laced up around her calves.
As she approached the crickets I saw her eyes flick down to the floor momentarily and she altered her pace just enough to catch a crawling cricket under the sole of her shoe. She even smiled imperceptabley as his little body was squashed under her foot. When she noticed me staring at her in disbelief she just winked - she was deliberately stepping on them, and obviously enjoying it too!

The crickets continued to rain down like some gift from the crush gods until the floor of the runway in front of me had become a scene of carnage. The dead crickets' bodies were crushed into unrecognisable pulp as the ladies repeatedly stepped on them. Those who hadn't been killed yet crawled pathetically in circles, disoriented from the exterminator's poison, until they too were pressed flat by one of the beautiful model's feet. Some of the bugs lay mortally wounded, half their bodies smashed into the floor by an enourmous high heeled shoe, the other half's arms struggling feebly until another shoe stepped down and put it out of its misery.
In the end there was nothing left of the crickets but wet patches and grease stains all over the runway, with tiny body parts scattered around them.

The show finally came to an end. The guests began to leave, just as my boss found me sitting there with a look of supreme bliss on my face. He began to rant about my laziness and slacking off on the job.
Just then one of the backstage hands came up and told me to follow him.
Apparently Yasmeen Ghauri's assistant had been fired earlier today, and for some reason she had asked for me personally to take his place.
I could begin, she said with a wry smile after I'd gone backstage, by cleaning her shoes...