Virgin Ninja (1)

   
   "Virgin Ninja (1)"
   
   Joanna Blanc was a forty-something blonde with short cropped curls of flaxen; moreover, a set of gray eyes, very hooded, a celestial nose, full kiss-me lips, and an athletic body that didn't brag buxom-ways, but merely cupcake cleavage--and she didn't give a damn.
   Miss Blanc worked at SUBWAY, doing the morning shift, lived in a shanty deep in the Arkansas brag of bucolic beauty, and drove an enduro Kawasaki, lime-green, so that she could always lose the cops by cutting through someone's yard or hitting a wooded trail.  She was a virgin.  Too, she was a Ninja.
   She starting out rolling with Rosary Beads in one pocket and a switchblade in the other; however, that wasn't enough to bring the jam of justice she desired to smear on the dastardly deeds of delinquents delivering diatribe against chaos yet practicing it themselves--basically, she was a slayer of hypocrites.  Like rich men with teen porn.
   It started in Little Rock during the 1970's, when her preacher step-father used to greet her at night in her bedroom, unzip his pants and expose an aroused member that he demanded she kiss.  After numerous macabre encounters, she bit it off, spit it out like a sour pickle, and got thrown in juvenile detention, her mother disowning her, and the rest was poverty, therapy, and tears, until she met a Carmelite Nun, getting faith and support; next, learned the ways of the Shinobi, better known as the Ninja--a covert warrior in feudal Japan, him standing up to the imperialistic Samurai, those guys armed with false honor--in her angst-fueled mind, though balanced with the totality of focus itself.
   So, she made sandwiches during the week, dismembered douchebags on Friday night, skulking with stealth; next, went to Mass on Sundays.
   She even carried the Rosary in her tabi boots, and nunchucks, many a shuriken; plus, a wooden wakizashi to crack craniums.  Hey, every girl has to get her groove on.  And she was no lesbian, but as white as snow.