Smash
Maxine looked down in horror at the mess she had made. The crate of wine bottles she had been sent to the cellar to retrieve had slipped from her hand and landed upside-down on the cobbled stone floor. With a pale, round face, long black hair tied into a tight bun beneath her frilly lace maid's cap, with thick, round-lens glasses, she stared down at the quickly spreading puddle of dark-red liquid, trickling in small channels between the thoroughly-cleaned stone blocks of the cellar floor.
"What's that racket?" Boomed a deep, demanding voice from up the stairs.
Maxine straightened up, her eyes darting from the footsteps coming down the stairs to the splatter staining the ground at her feet, fidgeting anxiously with the white apron-strings tied across the waist of her uniform. She had a well-endowed bust and was only a little pleasantly chubby, though it was hardly visibly under the modest floor-length maid's gown she wore.
A man with a five-o'-clock shadow and a receding hairline, in sweatpants and sandals, stepped up to the ruined pile of bottles.
"What's this?" He demanded, puffing up his broad, muscular chest. Maxine shrugged and gestured down.
"I- i'm sorry, sir, it was too heavy and my hand slipped-"
"Your hand slipped?" he demanded, anger in his voice. Taking a step over to Maxine, he grabbed her by the white ruffled collar of her dress and, with a timid gasp, forced her to her knees. He leaned into her helpless face, bent with anguished, whimpering frown, and in a low, clear voice said, "Those were the prize of my collection. That wine was worth more than your life, and now it's ruined!"
