Wherever she went, Poppy stood out. She dressed in such a way that the entire staff of the supermarket where this thirty-year-old, plump, flame-haired woman worked as a cashier quietly choked back laughter. And she adored sweets—a little packet of toffees always sat beside her till.
Her love for gaudy jewellery and eye-popping outfits far outweighed any common sense. Customers often froze mid-step, staring at the woman enthroned behind the counter, her fiery curls teased skyward and adorned with ribbons, garish clips, and bows. Poppy wore outrageously patterned blouses (where on earth did she find them?), mismatched scarves, and rings on every finger. Christmas had come early—and never left.
Yet the brightest thing about her was her utter refusal to take offense. No matter how much they teased her, no matter how often they begged her to dress more sensibly and lay off the sweets, she’d only laugh airily, wave a hand glittering with chunky rings, and pop another toffee into her mouth.
Poppy was brilliant at her job. Efficient, polite, always with a smile and a kind word. Customers left happy, warmed by her wide, white grin, her wishes for good health and love, and next time, they’d seek out her checkout—where the gleeful, ginger-haired cashier dazzled in all her chaotic glory.
Not a single complaint, not one reprimand. Only praise from shoppers.
Management commended her excellent work but begged her to tone it down. She refused. They learned to tolerate her quirks.
No one knew that in her heart, Poppy carried fear—or that in her handbag, she kept a stun gun.
Five years ago, on a rain-lashed evening, a gang of lads had jumped her. They’d beaten her, snatched her phone, wallet, and jewellery. She remembered crawling home through the downpour, wiping blood and rainwater from her face, the terror and pain.
After that, Poppy never left the house without her stun gun.
She told no one. Instead, she buried her fear beneath layers of glitter and garish cheer, letting the world think her a frivolous oddball.
She was afraid of young men. Afraid of the dark. No one knew.
Then came the day of Poppy’s great adventure.
On her day off, she took the bus into town, dreaming of new outfits. What else was a free, independent woman to do but treat herself?
Lost in thought, she barely noticed the three lads—hardly more than boys—who boarded at the next stop.
The bus rolled through a deserted stretch of parkland when they sprang up. “Don’t move, you lot!” one snarled, brandishing a knife. “Wallets, phones, jewellery—now! No funny business!” Another pressed a blade to the driver’s throat while the other two began robbing passengers.
Terrified, the passengers obeyed.
Poppy’s stomach clenched. That old, sticky fear rose in her throat. She clutched her handbag, fighting panic.
*Again. Why me? Why?*
She remembered the rain, the blows, the helplessness. Remembered the shame, the fear—and then, suddenly, she was furious.
At herself. At the silent passengers handing over their things.
In tricky situations, Poppy always turned to sweets. A couple of toffees, and the answer would come.
Now, her fingers fumbled blindly in her bag—not for sweets, but for the stun gun.
What happened next surprised even her.
She gripped the device, flicked it on, and when the robber leaned over her, she yanked her hand free and jammed it into his stomach—right where his stupid band logo stretched across his t-shirt.
He howled, crumpled, and went still. No one understood. Poppy tucked the stun gun away, widening her eyes in faux terror. Only the man beside her coughed—approvingly—and looked away to hide his grin.
The second robber rushed to his mate, bent down—and got a jolt to the neck.
The driver, quick-thinking, slammed the brakes and wrestled the third lad down. Passengers surged forward to tie them up.
When the police arrived, they couldn’t believe the criminals had been subdued by a plump woman in a floral blouse and ridiculous hair bows.
Poppy never breathed a word at work. But she noticed something: that clinging fear had vanished. For the first time in years, she walked home in the dark without flinching.
They awarded her a commendation for apprehending dangerous criminals—much to her colleagues’ shock.
The police captain presenting it held her hand a little too long, gazing into her blue, smoke-ringed eyes. Strangely, he didn’t seem to notice the gaudy rings or the hideous blouse.
He only saw the woman beneath.
