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  1. - Top - End - #1
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    xyzzy's Avatar

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    Mar 2008

    Default Short story. Critique?

    "For goodness sake, Margret, I killed a man for these shoes," the woman laughed, sipping her tea. "I might as well wear them!" Brushing her thick, curly blonde hair away from her face, she turned to me and waggled her index finger at me. "Now I know you think everything is just one big conspiracy, but really, it's not a big deal. No one's going to notice them."

    I was appalled. Wasn't Beth supposed to be the best? A professional? A true great assassin wouldn't make light of her work by looting, but here she was, wearing the shoes Mayor John Trask had died in last week. Body completely mutilated. Head entirely blown off. Very messy. There was still the faintest bit of blood on her gloves, though it wasn't noticeable to the naked eye, but that was the case for most of us. My own once white gloves were now a slightly pinkish color all throughout, but they still served their purpose. The Agency had wanted to send a very clear message that the city could no longer depend on their heroes. Of course, most of their work was contractual, but this had been a purely political message. It felt very perverse to make light of something that important.

    "But really, tell me, if I hadn't killed him, would he have asked me out? He was really coming on to me at the gala last month, don't you think?" She sighed wistfully as she blew into the cup to cool down the warm liquid inside. "Or do you think he knew and he wanted to try and stop me from wanting to kill him? That would be exactly like a politician. They're all manipulative scum. His ex is always talking about all the affairs he supposedly had, and I don't doubt her a bit. And Geoffery --- he's in Molly's department, I don't know if you've met him --- says he knows a woman who says that they're all true."

    See, this was the problem with The Agency. Too much drama! Did Dave really have a thing for Ethan? Were Troy and Elaine sleeping together? Rumors on top of rumors with lies and confusion thrown in for good measure. It was like a terrible soap opera, only with way more characters dying off left and right. I looked up at a bird sitting on a nearby branch. So simple. So beautiful. No drama. No head blowing up in fantastic chunks, throwing millions of concerned citizens into a state of panic only eliminated by a rerun of some reality show. This city was full of sheep watching the world around them but not actually seeing anything, only believing what the authorities told them they saw.

    "And did you see Jackie? That blouse! Orange stripes, does she really think she'll get away with that? We have standards. I might have to stop eating lunch with her on Tuesdays. Plus, she's been gaining weight. I'm not sure I want to be seen with someone who has to buy new clothing every month because she keeps getting heavier and heavier." She looked around the sky. "It's a good thing you brought that umbrella. I tell you, if there's anyone we need to be targeting next it's that weatherman! He's so unreliable."

    I considered how I would kill the bird if I had to. Of course, I wouldn't, unless it turned out to be some sort of futuristic robotic bird with a camera inside, but exercises like these always helped. I could try jumping at it from the table, but the glass surface would pose a risk in that case. There wasn't any projectiles nearby, and I didn't carry a gun while in public, but I could probably throw something at it. A chair might be a little excessive, but if well-aimed it might bring the bird down. My cup might make a good small projectile. If my aim proved true, I might even scald the bird with some hot tea. Now, the rest of the flock on the roof would provide an interesting challenge.

    "Although as annoyed as I am at Jackie, that's not nearly so bad as Mila. She has no standards! I don't think I've ever seen a woman reach such a pathetic state as hers. If it's not her breath it's her leg hair. Leg hair! Does she really think that's something we can stand for? The Agency prides itself in professionalism, and she has none whatsoever."

    Of course, the bird would only be incapacitated, even if I did manage to burn it. That was the first lesson to becoming a great assassin: killing someone is only one small step in a very complicated procedure. After all, everything from weapon choice to locale to form of injury to what happened to the body after the death occurs all play very important parts in killing someone. In the case of Mayor Trask, it was decided that his body should be left hardly recognizable. The goal in killing him was to keep the city on its toes, leave them paranoid that anyone could die at any time. No one was immune. All orchestrated by Mary Stevens, the director of The Agency. Her former military experience combined with undying allegiance to her at times extreme views made her the perfect leader for the organization.

    "We should talk to the manager about this tea. Entirely too hot. What's hot tea good for, anyway? It just burns your tongue is all it does. I don't even like this flavor very much. Maybe I should try the lemon one next week. And it's so muggy out here! I like the view from up here, but the balcony is too hot. Plus, I'm worried someone will hear us talking up here. I hope it doesn't rain. That'll just be miserable."

    Beth had gone into the mayor's home late at night armed to the teeth with dozens of high-powered weapons. His death was quick and probably fairly painless, but the photos of his chair and walls splattered with blood released to the media the next morning did nothing but fuel the paranoia that The Agency thrived on. The rumors had quickly grown larger-than-life, and claims that Mayor Trask had been involved in all sorts of illegal activity with the mob quickly rose up. Of course, none of them were true, but The Agency quickly swooped in to eliminate exactly the right targets to make all their enemies look involved in some way. Organized chaos. It was slowing down now, and something would need to be done to get people worried again, but again, it could be anything large enough.

    "I saw Dave with Ethan again today. Do you think Ethan is gay? For that matter, is Dave? I mean, he seems to be, but he hasn't said anything. Maybe Ethan thinks he's just being nice? Maybe he's trying to make it look like he's considering it to get back at Julia. That would be just like him to do that! Pretend to be gay just to anger his ex, I mean. Although Julia definitely deserves it."

    The bird flew up to the roof above us and joined the rest of the flock. Large stone blocks jutted out along the wall, leading up to a red roof where the small yellow bird was perched. From here it would be easy, as long as you only wanted to deal with one bird. That wall would be easy to climb, and the bird seemed entirely too distracted by whatever it was in the middle of to notice or care about someone climbing nearby.

    "Did you hear that she had dinner with Luke last Friday? I don't know whether to believe it or not, but Jeffrey claims that he definitely saw them at that new Thai place that just opened up. But really, Luke? I wouldn't have thought she was his type. That's why I don't know why I believe it."

    My phone buzzed. I looked at the screen. Three minutes until four, and a text message from Mary. The words on the screen read, "go thru w/ it". I looked up at Beth. I wasn't particularly excited about this, but work was work. I pulled up my umbrella off the ground. With a sudden jerk of my hand I pulled the grip off of it revealing a small blade. "It's been good knowing you, Beth, and I'm saddened it has to end like this," I said, thrusting the blade toward her neck. "Luckily, this means you won't have to deal with the rain any longer." I threw her limp body over the rail, my gloves concealing all evidence that could be traced back to me or The Agency. I climbed up to the roof, only a few seconds to pull myself up. As my feet pounded on the roof, the birds scattered, and I looked below to the escape vehicle. Exactly like every assassination The Agency was ever behind; only this time, I didn't take the shoes.

    original version in spoiler:

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    "For goodness sake, Margret, I killed a man for these shoes," the woman laughed, sipping her tea. "The least I can do is wear them!" Brushing her thick, curly hair away from her face, she turned to me and waggled her index finger at me. "And don't you start up on that nonsense about ghosts and curses and all that nonsense. It's just not sensible!"

    I was appalled. Wasn't Beth supposed to be the best? A professional? A true great assassin wouldn't make light of her work by looting, but here she was, wearing the shoes Mayor John Trask had died in last week. Body completely mutilated. Head entirely blown off. Very messy. There was still the faintest bit of blood on her gloves, though it wasn't noticeable to the naked eye, but that was the case for most of us. My own once white gloves were now a slightly pinkish color all throughout, but they still served their purpose. The Agency had wanted to send a very clear message that the city could no longer depend on their heroes. Of course, most of their work was contractual, but this had been a purely political message. It felt very perverse to make light of something that important. I pulled my phone out. Eight minutes until four, and then we needed to head back.

    "But really, tell me, if I hadn't killed him, would he have asked me out? He was really coming on to me, don't you think?" She sighed wistfully as she blew into the cup to cool down the warm liquid inside. "Or do you think he knew and he wanted to try and stop me from wanting to kill him? That would be exactly like a politician. They're all manipulative scum."

    See, this was the problem with The Agency. Too much drama! Did Dave really have a thing for Ethan? Were Troy and Elaine sleeping together? Rumors on top of rumors with lies and confusion thrown in for good measure. It was like a terrible soap opera, only with way more characters dying off left and right. I looked up at a bird sitting on a nearby branch. So simple. So beautiful. No drama. No head blowing up in fantastic chunks, throwing millions of concerned citizens into a state of panic only eliminated by a rerun of some reality show.

    "And did you see Jackie? That blouse! Orange stripes, does she really think she'll get away with that? We have standards. I might have to stop eating lunch with her on Tuesdays. Plus, she's been gaining weight. I'm not sure I want to be seen with someone who has to buy new clothing every month because she keeps getting heavier and heavier." She looked around the sky. "It's a good thing you brought that umbrella. I tell you, if there's anyone we need to be targeting next it's that weatherman! He's so unreliable."

    I considered how I would kill the bird if I had to. Of course, I wouldn't, unless it turned out to be some sort of futuristic robotic bird with a camera inside, but exercises like these always helped. I could try jumping at it from the table, but the glass surface would pose a risk in that case. There wasn't any projectiles nearby, and I didn't carry a gun while in public, but I could probably throw something at it. A chair might be a little excessive, but if well-aimed it might bring the bird down. My cup might make a good small projectile. If my aim proved true, I might even scald the bird with some hot tea.

    "Although as annoyed as I am at Jackie, that's not nearly so bad as Mila. She has no standards! I don't think I've ever seen a woman reach such a pathetic state as hers. If it's not her breath it's her leg hair. Leg hair! Does she really think that's something we can stand for? The Agency prides itself in professionalism, and she has none whatsoever."

    Of course, the bird would only be incapacitated, even if I did manage to burn it. That was the first lesson to becoming a great assassin: killing someone is only one small step in a very complicated procedure. After all, everything from weapon choice to locale to form of injury to what happened to the body after the death occurs all play very important parts in killing someone. In the case of Mayor Trask, it was decided that his body should be left hardly recognizable. The goal in killing him was to keep the city on its toes, leave them paranoid that anyone could die at any time. No one was immune. All orchestrated by Mary Stevens, the director of The Agency.

    "We should talk to the manager about this tea. Entirely too hot. What's hot tea good for, anyway? It just burns your tongue is all it does. I don't even like this flavor very much. Maybe I should try the lemon one next week. And it's so muggy out here! I like the view from up here, but the balcony is too hot. Plus, I'm worried someone will hear us talking up here. I hope it doesn't rain. That'll just be miserable."

    Beth had gone into the mayor's home late at night armed to the teeth with dozens of high-powered weapons. His death was quick and probably fairly painless, but the photos of his chair and walls splattered with blood released to the media the next morning did nothing but fuel the paranoia that The Agency thrived on. The rumors had quickly grown larger-than-life, and claims that Mayor Trask had been involved in all sorts of illegal activity with the mob quickly rose up. Of course, none of them were true, but The Agency quickly swooped in to eliminate exactly the right targets to make all their enemies look involved in some way. Organized chaos. It was slowing down now, and something would need to be done to get people worried again, but again, it could be anything large enough.

    "I saw Dave with Ethan again today. Do you think Ethan is gay? For that matter, is Dave? I mean, he seems to be, but he hasn't said anything. Maybe Ethan thinks he's just being nice? Maybe he's trying to make it look like he's considering it to get back at Julia. That would be just like him to do that! Pretend to be gay just to anger his ex, I mean. Although Julia definitely deserves it."

    The bird flew up to the roof above us. Large stone blocks jutted out along the wall, leading up to a red roof where the small yellow bird was perched. From here it would be easy. That wall would be easy to climb, and the bird seemed entirely too distracted by whatever it was in the middle of to notice or care about someone climbing nearby.

    "Did you hear that she had dinner with Luke last Friday? I don't know whether to believe it or not, but Jeffrey claims that he definitely saw them at that new Thai place that just opened up. But really, Luke? I wouldn't have thought she was his type. That's why I don't know why I believe it."

    My phone buzzed. I looked at the screen. Three minutes until four, and a text message from Mary. The words on the screen read, "go thru w/ it". I looked up at Beth. I wasn't particularly excited about this, but work was work. I pulled up my umbrella off the ground. With a sudden jerk of my hand I pulled the grip off of it revealing a small blade. "Unfortunately, it's my responsibility to inform you that your employment is terminated," I said, thrusting the blade toward her neck. "Luckily, this means you won't have to deal with the rain any longer." I threw her limp body over the rail, my gloves concealing all evidence that could be traced back to me or The Agency. I climbed up to the roof, the yellow bird ignoring me completely, and ran across, jumping down to a black sedan parked below. "She's taken care of," I said to the driver as I climbed in.


    ---

    I wrote this in the last hour and a half or so, so it's probably pretty rough. Can anyone offer their thoughts on what would improve it?

    EDIT1: made paragraphs more distinct as suggested by DD.

    EDIT2: I revised the story based on suggestions from several people.
    Last edited by xyzzy; 2009-09-09 at 09:29 PM.
    Generation 31: When you see this signature, ignore it. This isn't a social experiment.

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  2. - Top - End - #2
    Titan in the Playground
     
    Dallas-Dakota's Avatar

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    May 2007

    Default Re: Short story. Critique?

    Press enter, it helps make the story more readable and seem like less of a giant slab of text.
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    Quote Originally Posted by RabbitHoleLost View Post
    DD: .... DEM HIPS.
    Quote Originally Posted by faerwain View Post
    Why do I have the feeling that you actually really grind Smurfs to make your ice cream?
    Quote Originally Posted by banjo1985 View Post
    My wedding underwear has a picture of Dallas Dakota's face on them.
    Ceikatar!

  3. - Top - End - #3
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    xyzzy's Avatar

    Join Date
    Mar 2008

    Default Re: Short story. Critique?

    I revised it based on various suggestions from people. Anyone have thoughts on the new version, or things that were better originally?
    Generation 31: When you see this signature, ignore it. This isn't a social experiment.

    78% of people didn't even notice the erroneous apostrophe in the signature meme this snarky message is based on. If you're one of the 22% who was horrified to see the language abuse, put this in your signature.

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