Wednesday, February 9, 2011

We're All In Deep Shit

He watches her restlessness through the one way mirror in quiet annoyance.  The pristine white sheet they had used to cover her like a recently deceased corpse wrinkles up, betraying the life underneath it.  Sliding off to the side it reveals a pale face framed by curly black hair.  Wine-red lipstick.  His favorite color for all women.  Scanning her, he sees a drab, dried out piece of leaf in her hair. Her hands are pale from gravel dust and dirt. She fell over her own feet running from him.  To her credit she did not cry out, and simply lay still as he plunged the needle into her flesh. She did not respond in anyway when he wished her a good journey into the dreamless space of deep sleep.

His displeasure increases as he realizes his focus diminishing.  He should not be noticing details of the quarry, nor replaying the hunt.  He should not be feeling unecessary guilt about the inability to provide a journey of oblivion.  But willing his mind back to order isn't easy when the serum they gave him to subdue her for transport wasn't working as promised.  He had to dose her twice to get her through the ten hour drive from Oceanside to Tahoe.  He reflects once more that they were simply rich amatuers. They did not know what they were doing, much less what they were talking about.  He heard them arguing through the carelessly left open door about how it might not be right for her blood chemistry.  The shorter one protesting that they improved it, plus Amelia was younger, shouldn't kill her like the last one.

He frowns, then quickly corrects this outward emotion.  None of this is for him, he has one last task to complete and a huge bonus waiting off shore.  Get her to the airport.  Face smooth and expressionless, he studies her one last time before opening the door to administer the third dose, in the hopes of maintaining the schedule set by them.  Intense hazel eyes flicker open as he appropaches.  "Help me, please, or we are all in deep shit..."  Stabbing her again with the ineffectual concoction, he really wished he didn't know her name.  The Mark should be closest thing to a name.


  1. Transporter, hired and professional.
    Yet, human.

    Interesting story.

    Blasphemous Aesthete

  2. "She did not respond in any way when.." - two words, not one.

    "... he really wishes he didn't know her name." - unnecessary tense shit.

    I like the jump in narrator. We'll see how it plays out.

  3. wow--where are you going with this...

  4. I like all of the assumptions we are to assume... does that sound right? -J

  5. No that did not sound right..
    I like to need to 'work' at a story.
    That's what I mean. And this does that.-J

  6. Ugh. When I was young, I had a fear of being kidnapped and drugged.