THE TALE OF DER VYER.

Marais Van der Vyer shot one of her farm labourers, dead. It didn't particularly matter due to the lack of work he did at the farm anyway. Why flog a dead horse when you can shoot it in the head? That was Miss Van der Vyers motto, and as far as she was concerned, a bloody good motto it was too. The farm worker had been a lazy oik with a surly attitude who had finally got what was coming to him. Not only was he surly and lazy, he had also been having his end away with the ravishingly good looking Larissa Van Pom Strumpet. With her flaming red hair and cool, knowing, flirtatious eyes she had caused scandal at the farm with her low cut tops and minuscule shorts. As the men concurred, they liked short shorts, and they all liked Larissa, frequently.



Marais was a jealous soul, of short stature with skin as dark as her nature. Being of good stock, it was bizarre she turned out so bad. Her family were of aristocracy, as rich as they were greedy and Marais wanted for nothing, except true love. It was difficult for her to be looked up at only in the sense of her wealth and class, as opposed to her beauty and charm (and height). This was why she killed. To be fair, she did give the farm workers a chance, a chance to work hard, and a chance to win her heart. If they did the first but showed no interest in her, she would let them live (albeit make sure they got the ghastly jobs) but if they did the latter too, well gosh, that indeed, was curtains. Larissa was lucky she worked as hard as she played and as much as Marais prayed Larissa would slacken, she never gave Marais the satisfaction of putting a bullet in her head.

The other farm hands were becoming increasingly suspicious of the disappearances of their work mates and found the reasons behind the disappearances a tad odd and unbelievable. John had won the lottery and ran away to Spain with a young and nubile model called Syndi. Dave had fallen into a ditch then awoken to believe he should go help starving kids in Africa. Carlos had tripped over his shoe lace and broken his head and could apparently be found shuffling about three towns down shouting about Jesus. Yet who were they to think too hard? They had work to do and money to earn so they toiled then embroiled in dalliances of the sexy kind.

Marais was aware that the more men who said no to her was helping her get closer to her eventual yes. This caused her to become more pernickity about the men's standards of work. If a flower had been trodden on the gun would be out of her suspenders quicker than Linford Christie racing from the Klu Klux Klan. New men would arrive, then leave in a bin bag. No one was right for Marais. This caused her much sadness. Was she really, truly so bad? Was being with her truly a fate worse than death? Her realisation that she actually wasn't came in the epitimonious form of a small chap going by the name of Storly. No one had ever heard of the name before, and probably never would again, due to the fact his parents were eccentric and made the name up. Storly was a bourgeois man with a heart, who knew his money was not his own, knew that he was privileged and knew that if he worked, he too could hand over money to others and make them slightly privileged too. Marais Van der Vyer liked Storly's morals, his hard, tanned body that knew a hard days work, and his care free easy manner. Marais threw her gun away and stopped buying bin bags.Over the milked cows, they knew it was love.