A Kill OdditySubmitted by asmasta808 at 2010-12-31 09:15:17 EST
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at the risk of identifying myself. i'm posting an old composition. possibly inspired by in a sing-song fashion liken to dylan thomas or whateverdevil. and maybe the authority comic.
A burst of light splashes the walls of a dainty but poorly kept room as a passing truck rumbles its way into a distant haze. A man in green sits beside a table by the window, the only source of light he allows into the room. He has been there two days, going over and over again, the details of his current assignment.
Items of a dossier spread across the table top, seemingly left there to flutter to the draught, which stirs the man in green from his sleep. Pages of paper, photographs, copies and prints. He awakes suddenly and takes them all in his gaze. Then names, words, dates and mental maps. They fill in the spaces as his consciousness returns. "Who is he", he mumbles to himself, not questioning but commanding. And the answer comes sharply, "HE COULD HAVE BEEN ME!"
Unless his client had purposely fabricated these records (to provoke, to confuse, to challenge, to entice him), his target shares almost the same history as himself. His hometown, his schools, his teachers and peers. He can vaguely recall a similar name. He may have seen him before. He may have even shaken his hand. But the details of the activities his target had participated in, for the last few years, told him clearly that, "Where he had chose idealism, I had chosen professionalism... No. I just got away with what I could afford." He reads the name of his hometown aloud, and stares at a mug shot of his target for a while. Other words, he will later think irrelevant, flows through his mind, "Was it so much more important to be loved, than to be understood?"
For a brief moment, the man in green feels nothing by empathy, but then tonight one must die. "Would it matter who? Perhaps tonight, fate will decide which path destiny chooses. Free will of destiny, and when it is done, let's call it 'fate'! I must be going insane."
A man dressed in green, dark green and baggy, with a hood concealing his face, emerges from a shadow of a wall of a building he knows well. He pats the weapon within his coat for the last time and strides in through the door. "There he is", he recognises an almost shapeless figure sitting alone at the bar, with its back facing him. And he hesitates, "The only one in red. I could take him right here and just leave!" He walks on, towards the figure, uncontrollably drawn to it. (His footsteps light, he felt surreal, as the light reflected on the wine bottles behind the bar sparkled and formed a motif around the shapeless red.)
"Yes, I know you", said the man in red.
A moment later, glass shattered, a man fell back, dropping his weapon, and it was over. The man in red left quickly. No one had a good look at his face, or his body, for it was covered in thick layers of clothing. Outside the building, the man in red would have turned his coat inside out and cover himself again in grey. Tomorrow, outside the city he left, he would have a different name, a different life, a different point of origin, and another perspective. And somewhere else, another dossier on the man in red.
Red destiny. Red destiny. Red.
He spoke to me."
A man died with a satisfied smile.