**Winnifred**
Wherever Winnifred appeared, she never failed to turn heads. She dressed in such a way that the entire staff of the supermarket where this thirty-year-old, flame-haired, plump woman worked as a cashier would stifle silent laughter behind their hands. And then there was her sweet tooth. A crumpled bag of boiled sweets always sat by her till, disappearing one by one as the day wore on.
Her love for costume jewellery and garish clothing clearly outweighed any sense of restraint. Customers would freeze mid-step, staring at the woman perched behind the counter, her wild curls teased into a towering nest of ribbons, clips, and bows. Winnifred dressed in outrageously clashing patterns—where on earth did she find such things?—layering scarves, bangles, and a ring on every finger. It was like Christmas morning every day.
Yet the one redeeming thing about her was her complete inability to take offence. No matter how they teased her, no matter how many times they begged her to dress sensibly or ease up on the sweets, she’d only laugh, wave a bejewelled hand, and pop another sweet between her teeth.
She was brilliant at her job. Efficient, polite, warm. Customers left happy, charmed by Winnifred’s wide, white-toothed smile, her cheerful blessings of health and happiness. Many would return, heading straight for the till where the flamboyant cashier radiated like a beacon.
Not a single complaint, not one reprimand—only praise. Management commended her work but failed to convince her to tone down her look. So they endured her eccentricities.
No one knew that deep down, Winnifred carried fear in her heart—and a stun gun in her handbag.
Five years ago, on a rain-lashed evening, a gang of lads had jumped her. They’d beaten her, stolen her phone, her purse, her jewellery. She remembered crawling home, blood and rainwater streaking her face, the terror, the helplessness. After that, she never left the house without her stun gun.
She told no one. Beneath the cheerful outfits and jangling bracelets, she hid her dread. She feared young men and the dark. But to the world, Winnifred was just a frivolous, empty-headed woman.
Then came the day of her unlikely heroism.
On her day off, she decided to browse the shops—what else was a single, independent woman to do but treat herself? So there she sat on the bus, lost in dreams of new scarves and trinkets, barely noticing the three lads who boarded a few stops later.
The bus rolled through a deserted stretch of parkland when the boys leapt up.
“Nobody move, yeah? Wallets, phones, jewellery—hand ’em over! No funny business!”
Blades flashed. One shoved his knife against the driver’s throat while the other two stalked the aisle, collecting loot. Terrified passengers obeyed without protest.
Winnifred stiffened, her stomach twisting with that same, sickening fear. She clutched her handbag, heart hammering.
*Again. Why me? Why?*
She remembered the wet pavement, the fists, the jeers. The humiliation. And then—anger.
She was furious. At herself. At the cowed passengers surrendering to these boys.
In tricky situations, sweets always helped. A couple would clear her head. So she fumbled blindly in her bag—and her fingers brushed cold metal.
What happened next surprised even her.
She gripped the stun gun, flicked it on, and when one lad loomed over her, she whipped it out and jammed it into his stomach—right where his stupid slogan T-shirt stretched over his ribs.
He shrieked, convulsed, and crumpled. No one understood. Winnifred hid the weapon, feigned shock. Only the man beside her coughed—approvingly—and looked away to hide his grin.
The second thief rushed to his mate, bent down—and got a jolt to the neck.
The driver, quick-thinking, slammed the brakes and wrestled the third boy down. Suddenly, passengers surged forward, helping tie up the dazed would-be robbers.
When the police arrived, they couldn’t believe the criminals had been subdued by a plump woman in a floral blouse, her ridiculous bows bobbing atop her fiery hair.
Back at work, Winnifred never mentioned it. But she noticed something—the fear was gone. For the first time in years, she walked home in the dark without flinching.
She received a commendation for apprehending dangerous offenders, much to her colleagues’ astonishment. The police captain presenting the award held her hand a beat too long, gazing into her misty blue eyes. And the oddest thing? He didn’t seem to notice the gaudy rings or the clashing clothes. He only saw the woman beneath.
