A bit more from Lion on the Mountain

Wren Stapleton

“I'm sticking every single needle I own into you.”
Oh, this is so not going to go well.
Wren Stapleton lay face down on a table, practically naked under a thin, white sheet,
waiting to turn into a porcupine.
Why did I let Barbie talk me into coming here?
“Now it's not gonna hurt, I promise. So just relax,” Serge the acupuncturist said. “You’re
so tense! Your shoulders feel like they’re cast in iron. We want soft shoulders, don’t we?”
Wren wasn’t sure if she was supposed to nod or answer vocally. She was afraid to move,
despite Serge’s promise that this wouldn’t hurt. He was sticking needles into her—she didn’t care
how small they were. At least there was a hole in the table for her face, but lying face down like
this was wreaking havoc with her sinuses. Or maybe it was the copious incense burning on a
nearby table. The smell was supposed to make her relax but instead it made her hold back a
sneeze. The last thing she wanted to do was move suddenly. What if Serge stuck a needle in the
wrong place and it paralyzed her legs or something?
“Yes, we want soft shoulders,” she finally said, her voice already sounding stuffy.
“Good.” Serge sounded distracted. At least he was paying attention to what he was doing
and not to what she was saying. “We’re going to start with your ears.”
“My ears? Seriously? Are my ears tense or something?”
Serge just chuckled. “Funny girl. I like ’em funny.”
And then she felt the slightest pinch at the top of her ear. It actually didn’t hurt.
“See? Not bad, is it?” He stuck several more needles in her ear and walked around the
table to the other side of her head.
“I’m withholding judgment until this is over.”
“Oh, I like ’em sassy, too. I should spank you.”

Wait, what? “Um.”
“Just kidding with you. Relax. I’m a professional. I thought you had a sense of humor.
That’s what Barbie told me.”
I’m going to kill Barbie and it won’t be funny at all.
“Now let’s tackle those shoulders. You’re going to be so relaxed when this is over you
won’t even recognize your own body.”
“Doubtful.”
“Serenity is the goal, Wren. Breathe in and embrace serenity.”
“Hang on. I really need to sneeze.”
“Oh, good, it’s working already. Just let it out. Sneezing is a sign of relaxation.”
More like a sign that this incense is going to kill me before I get the chance to kill Barbie.
The smoke had gotten stronger, and there was a foul odor underneath that didn’t smell
natural at all. Maybe it was burning the base it was sitting on? Her nose was too plugged to really
tell.
Wren sneezed and then Serge stuck a series of needles in her back like he was making up
for lost time. A couple of them made the muscle twinge underneath, but yeah, no pain. And her
shoulders and back really did feel more relaxed.
This might be working.
Barbie wasn’t the only one of her subjects who raved about Serge but she was the one
who finally convinced Wren to book an appointment for her shoulders and back. Carting around
photo equipment all day was taking its toll.
Not that Wren’s shoulders were almost permanently parked up around her ears way
before she ever picked up a full camera bag. She’d ignore that little fact.
Serenity. She took another deep breath and her nose twitched at the smell.
“Just a few more to go,” Serge said as he stuck another one in.
“I need to sneeze again.”
“So relaxed.”
“No, I think it’s the incense making me sneeze.”
He made a disgruntled sound. “It’s barely there. I don’t even smell it anymore. I was
thinking of lighting another cone as a matter of fact.”

“Then you’re totally nose-blind because it keeps getting stronger. I think it’s burning the
holder or something.” There was definitely an acrid smell beneath the sweet sandalwood odor.
Wren sneezed, clearing her sinuses. “Wait, that’s not the incense. That smells electrical.”
“Huh. I think you’re right.” Wren heard Serge walk over to check the incense “But it’s
not coming from here. Shit.”
Serge walked across the room and opened the door. She assumed he was checking the
hall.
A claxon sounded, and there went all her hard-won serenity. Wren hated sudden loud
noises and a fire alarm was the granddaddy of them all.
“Serge? Is everything all right? Should I…?” Wren lifted her head and looked toward the
open door.
Her acupuncturist was nowhere in sight.
“He ditched me!”
Wren sat up and looked around. Her clothes sat in a heap on the chair where she’d left
them. She jumped off the table, bringing the sheet with her, and headed for the door to close it.
But pounding footsteps in the hall and shouts told her she did not have time to get dressed. And
was that smoke? The electrical smell was getting stronger, and now it was mixed with other
chemically smells.
What about the needles in my back? She couldn’t very well slip her t-shirt on over those,
could she? She reached back, trying to touch them and when her finger brushed against one, she
got a horrible cringy feeling just thinking about trying to pull them out.
Just then someone stopped at the door. Thank God, Serge had not abandoned her. He
could pull them out quickly.
Nope. Wasn’t Serge.
“You need to get out now,” some rando guy shouted into the room. Break room’s on fire.”
“Shit!” After one last forlorn look at her clothes across the room, Wren grabbed her purse
off the hook beside the door, slipped on her sandals, and awkwardly shuffled out of the room,
trying to keep the sheet covering her front and her butt at least.
Thank God I didn’t take off my panties. And at least she’d worn the cute ones, not her
ratty old period panties. Because everyone was about to get a show.