Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Monday, April 13, 2009

Points Of Authority

Points of Authority

A full moon shined brightly over the city, leaving tiny spots of darkness for the stars to inhabit. The grass outside the penthouse was wet with a slight dew forming. Everything was at ease and peaceful. Even the animals were quiet; waiting for something to end. For something good to happen. Each little animal stood where they were, waiting. No one knew for what, but it was for something. A coyote did not dare howl it's cry over the cliffs at the moon, in fear of disrupting anything that could be happening.
The night was still beautiful. It was cloudless and cool, silent and dark. The only disruption was the destruction of a penthouse, not far from where the coyote restrained his howl. The wind flowed through the trees causing a soft whistling noise -- comforting to the outside animals and insomniacs who were roaming the streets of Moscow.
The penthouse was near Red Square, causing people to see bright flashes and hear dull bangs from inside the top story, but could not piece together that something more than a light show was occurring. It was a fight of bullets and steel, skin against blade, and right over wrong.
“Jesus!” A tall man dove behind a couch, follow by his comrade, to reload his gun. It gave her a chance to catch her breath. The man fired off a few blind rounds, checking his friend for injuries or anything fatal. “Are you okay?” he asked frantically.
“Yes, yes. I'm fine, thank you.” was her out of breath response. She was cut and scratched, but she could not do anything about it, which was why her friend was so concerned.
The wounds he had acquired were gone in a mere few seconds, but hers would be kept until they healed on their own. Her sword holder still remained at her hip, right where she had securely fastened it before the whole thing started. With her swords drawn, she got up and attacked a rather large man, who was in the middle of reloading his G36 Assault Rifle, bringing him to the ground.
A hail of bullets came from behind, not coming from her partner's AK-74M Assault Rifle, but from an MK23, directly behind her. He was going through his magazine quickly, and she knew that he was as well. The man under the girl tossed her aside and pointed the gun at her head, taking aim. He did not get the chance to fire before one of her engraved swords buried itself deep within his body, cutting through the flesh and muscle like butter.
The heavy man fell onto her sword, deepening the wound and the weight level greatly increased. She could not hold him up. The skilled girl dropped him to the side and stayed behind his stiff body, not looking into his open, rage-instilled eyes. She looked towards the kitchen area to find where the other assassin would be hiding. The coward hid behind the sturdy counters.
The girl dove behind an overturned sofa and waited. She sat still, giving the impression she had been hit, killing her. She was far from dead. The large man approached the sofa with care, and she waited. Only when he was a few inches from the back of the sofa, did she thrust the sword through the sofa and into his gut. The springs had done some damage to her steel, but she gave it no thought.
Two were dead, but several more were to join the party. She moved from the overturned piece of furniture to a more secure area, behind the bar. She waited for her comrade to join her while cleaning her sword with her shirt. Her wounds were shallow, but the steel was cut badly from the springs of the couch. A spray of bullets hit the bar and a bottle of alcohol above her, sending glass and liquids flying.
White hair appeared beside her in a blur as her friend dove down next to her, healing himself from a painful bullet wound. “We need backup, Rina!” he shouted over the gunfire.
“No! No backup! We can do this ourselves!” she shouted in response.
“Rina, I'm calling it in!” The man pulled out a black cell phone, dialing a short number he had memorized.
The woman grabbed the phone from him and kept it. “No backup.” she said sternly.

* * *
Across town, in another hotel room not nearly as nice as the one being destroyed, sat a boy on his bed, admiring himself in a mirror. He got tired of looking at his flawless skin and decided to concentrate on something more impressive than himself for once, although he would never admit it. The town really was beautiful.
As he looked out the window, he realized that he really was on his own. His parents weren't with him, and neither was his brother. He didn't care about them anyway. The only important thing was how he looked. He stared partially at his dim reflection in the window, and partially outside into the dark night, watching it rain softly.
“So what is a beautiful boy like me supposed to do, all couped up and bored in Mulweed?” he asked himself, obviously knowing that was not the name of the city he was in. “No, not Mulweed, Mooo... Muu.. Screw it.”
He lied back on his bed, hand resting behind his head, thinking of what to do at nine o'clock at night in the strange city of which he has no knowledge. Maybe he could search the city for a beautiful Russian female, and pretend he was lost and needed a place to stay. The thought brought a grin to his face, but even he knew that a pretty boy like himself would not do so well with an older woman.
Even in Russia, he was well known. The famous Joseph O'Reily could not be mistaken for anyone but himself. A beautiful, very pale, very fit, young model. He knew girls would be crawling all over him if he even stepped one foot outside while he was in Russia. These photoshoots took him everywhere. He smiled a bit to himself and sat up, realizing how nice he truly looked in new designer clothes, and how flawless his skin looked without acne.
The boy got off of his bed to take off his shirt and practice his runway walk. His signature walk down the runway that made him so famous with all the women and modeling agencies. It was all he could do while couped up in his room at night. He was confident he had it perfected because he practiced every night that he was trapped in his room. He decided that he hadn't lifted anything heavy in a while, and it was time to get the weights out.
“I can't let these babies get rusty or flabby on me. It will be the end of my amazing career if I do.” he said to himself, lifting two weights from his suitcase.
The weights were twenty pounds each, not much for a fit teen like him. He lifted them to his sides, up and down, muscles ripping each time he rose his arms. The workout wasn't much, but it was enough to keep his muscles working and burning with every lift. He could feel the lactic acid build up in his arms, but he never minded it.
Right before he was about to stop, a light knock came from the door, with a soft voice saying, “Room service.”
“Jeeze, about time.” Joseph mumbled to himself, setting the weights on his bed.
The boy opened the door in his jeans, leaving his shirt on the chair where he left it. The female gave him his dinner plate, smiling as she looked at his glistening chest.
“Would you like anything else?” she asked.
“Yeah, I would like to know when you get off from work.”
“I bet you would.” she said, turning and walking away with a smile on her face.
“I guess even the beautiful people like me have nights with nothing to do.”

* * *
“Daneil...” came a female voice from just outside a cracked door.
“Yes?” he answered, not looking up from his paperwork.
“We have some files for you to examine. May we enter your office?” the female asked, opening the door all the way.
“We?” The man looked up from what he was doing, and saw a female and two males standing in the doorway, waiting for permission. “Oh, Sasha. Yes, of course you may come in.”
“Thank you.” Her heavy Russian accent made it hard for her to speak in English, but it was better for Daneil to speak it, even though he had perfected the Russian.
“So,” he began, laying down his pencil perfectly parallel to the edge of his paper. “What is it that you need to show me?”
“These files have been updated every day since Deron has come to power on the other side.” The woman pulled out a manila folder thick with information on one man. “We have reason to believe that he has grown considerably stronger in these past few months.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“What I mean is,” she adjusted her glasses and continued, “Deron's capability to control what he has gained over the past few hundred years has gotten better. The abilities that he posses, the rare ones, are easier for him to control now.”
“How do you know this?” Daneil asked in a very monotonous tone of voice.
“We have our sources. His abilities are on the rise, Daneil. He needs to be stopped now before he destroys all of Europe, just as the others have warned you. It's the whole reason why-”
Daneil raised his hand to signal that she was done talking. “Sasha, please do not tell me why this agency is still operating. I was alive when they built it, under my command.”
“Yes, I am very sorry.” The woman got up, ran her hands across the black fabric covering her legs, and left the folder with Daneil. “We will need it back in research soon, but I want you to look at the new files we have acquired.”
“Yes, of course.”
The woman bowed her head slightly, and curtsied, giving her respects to the older man. She backed up a few steps before turning around and leaving the room with her two male escorts. Daneil took the folder in his hands and began to open it. He let a heavy sigh escape from his mouth as he turned each paper, to read what they had to say. Nothing really caught his attention until a sheet of yellow paper appeared, with an image and line of text.
He sat forward in his seat, leaning over his desk and the piece of paper, reading it very carefully. What was in the text could not be true, and neither could the photo. It had to be. Nothing in the text supported the facts very well, but he still took a precaution, and tucked it safely into his desk drawer. The man closed the folder and put it into his “outgoing” tray, immediately being noticed by his quiet secretary.
“To the lady in Research?” she asked.
“Yes, Sasha. Thank you.”
The woman did the same as Sasha, giving a slight bow of the head and a curtsy, before stepping backwards then turning her back to leave. The woman forgot to close the door again. He payed no attention to it, and let it close on itself.

* * *
Shards of wood still rained over the duo as bullets penetrated the bar, moving deeper and deeper into the interior. It would not hold up for long unless they moved.
“Luke! We have to move!” the woman shouted.
“No! You'll get shot!” he replied, ducking from a thick piece of wood as it broke off from the bar.
“I'll be fine! Now take care of the guys to your left!” she said, turning to get up.
Luke grabbed her arm and kept her there a moment. When she turned to her, he held out a Beretta 92 in the palm of his hand. “Please, take it! You'll need it!”
The girl could only smile at his efforts. “No, you know I don't touch them unless I need to.”
“You need to!”
“No, I don't.” she said with a reassuring smile as he put the gun back into its holster.
The girl's movements were swift, moving from the bar and into the open room. Two shots came from the familiar Assault Rifle belonging to her friend, killing two men with a clean shot to the chest. With the men on her left taken care of, she could focus on the two to her right, the only two left.
She ran at the biggest of the two and grabbed his arms, using him as a shield. He took two bullets to the back, his eyes bulging and breathing becoming burdened. The sword she carried went through the man and out his back, dripping crimson blood onto the floor before the only thug left. His expression was a cross between fear and anger, when he realized that he was the only one left and Yekatrina had killed all of his friends.
She took her sword from the big man's body and stood before the last thug, waiting to see what he would do. He raised his gun and fired, but the sword came up too fast for the bullet. It hit the sword before it hit her, and went directly into the last man's body. He dropped to the ground once the sword was no longer there to support his weight.
“Luke! Let's get out of here! More will show up!” she commanded.
“Right.. Yes, I am coming!” he said, a thick Scottish accent very clear in his voice.
The two ran out of the destroyed flat with dead bodies still lying on the floor. They jumped over debris and bodies as they made their escape, careful not to leave anything behind for the next group of attackers. As they ran down the halls, everyone was frozen. Luke and Yekatrina swerved in and out of the civilians, careful not to disrupt them. It would cause confusion and wonder when everything turned out alright after they left.
As soon as the two were safely outside in the cold Russian winter, life in the hotel resumed it's order. The clean-up crew for KAD was already in the room, doing their job. Their coats were waiting for them, undisturbed with a light blanket of snow covering them. The white coat belonged to the woman, and the black coat belonged to the man.
Yekatrina's sword was safely in its holster on her leg, concealed to civilian eyes. Luke's gun was safely hidden as well. They were careful not to get caught with these weapons, even though the regular Moscow police force could not do anything to them. They concealed them from the cold, and from the civilians. Just in case, and not to raise any panic among any of them.
Luke's snow white hair contrasted sharply against his black coat, and Yekatrina's jet black hair contrasted sharply against her white coat, but each was doing its job to keep them warm. With hands in their pockets and mouths in their collars, not much was said.
“I told you we didn't need backup.” the woman said, looking straight ahead. She was still in a bit of pain from her minor wounds.
“Yes, but I think it would have been a good idea. That way you wouldn't have gotten banged up and sore.”
“Yes, but what's a mission without a few scrapes and cuts?” she asked with a warm smile behind her collar.
“Well, I still hate it when you get hurt, you know that. We've known each other too long to just blow off stuff like that.”
“Well, how many times did you get shot, Luke?”
“That's not the point.” Luke said matter-o-factly. “I can heal myself.. You know that.”
“Yes, but still. You need to be more careful, especially if you can still feel the pain of each gunshot.” Yekatrina pointed out.
“Rina, you're not my mother.”
“I sure have to act like it sometimes.”
Luke gave a small laugh, and kept walking in the direction of their headquarters, glad they brought heavy coats for each to wear.
“I swear these winters are getting colder and colder.” he announced, half way to their destination.
“Yes, it seems that they are.” Yekatrina replied.
As the two walked side by side, their boots left imprints in the snow behind them, and a trail back to the hotel. Gradually the falling snow would cover them up, but the man liked to look behind him every few minutes to see his own footsteps next to his friend's. The snow did not only cling to their coats and the ground, but it clung to their hair and faces.
The white snow matched their pale complexions, but melted with the contact to their warm skin. The two walked to their headquarters, both quite content on how the mission resulted, and both speaking of the task.
“Who do you suppose they were?” Yekatrina asked.
“I'd think men of Deron's. But why would he send mortals?”
“Got me.” Yekatrina said with a shrug from inside her coat.
“Or maybe it wasn't Deron. You never know anymore with all the copy-cats and other vampires sent out to tear down the KAD agency.” Luke said.
“Yes, yes I know that, but I don't think that's it. I think there's more to it than just copy-cats and angry vampires.”
The two agents walked up the marble steps to the agency and entered the building. They were immediately greeted by the sound of rushing water, heat, and the quiet bustling of men and women around the fountain nearby. They were eating or working, but none were just wasting time. They were all serious about their work.
As the two well known agents walked in, men and women looked up, giving a bow of the head to them if sitting, or a small curtsy or bow if they stood. The two agents nodded back to several, but not to all.. The pair took off their coats, slung them over their arms and kept walking, making their way to an elevator.
As the steel doors opened, the two entered the small room and pressed the top floor button. They had to go to their office and see Daneil before heading home to rest. Being in the elevator gave Yekatrina time to examine all her injuries and look at the shirt that Luke was wearing. It was a bit tattered, but the man liked his clothes to have the “worn out” look to them, so he would keep wearing it.
“So, I assume you're going to never throw that shirt out?” she asked.
“Of course not! You know me, Rina.” Luke responded with a smile and a wink as the doors opened.
The two stepped out into the large office space, walking directly to Daneil's office, coats still in hand. They then passed their off to two assistants, to be placed in their own office where they would wait for them. Before knocking, the two paused slightly, but then gave a slight rap on the glass to make their presence known.
“Yes?” came the familiar voice of the head agent.
“Daneil, it is Luke and Yekatrina. May we come in?” Yekatrina asked as a precaution.
“Yes, yes. Of course you may.”
The two entered the room and stood before the desk, waiting for someone to speak. Daneil nodded to the chairs to the side of each of them, offering them a seat. They both took it immediately, so as not to offend him. They had learned from past experiences.
“How did it go?” Daneil asked, folding his hands above his desk.
“Smoothly. It took a but longer than we had anticipated, but it got over with.” Luke replied with a serious face.
“Good. Any major damage, Yekatrina?”
“Nothing major, sir. Just a few scratches and cuts. I should be fine, thank you.” was her response.
“You might want to get rid of that shirt. It looks a little blood-ridden.” Yekatrina nodded in response. “How is your sword? Any damage?”
“Actually, yes. I need it be mended as soon as possible.” Yekatrina drew her sword from her leg holster, showing the damage that had been done to the blade by the metal springs in the couch. “Sometimes I wonder how you end up killing some of these people.” Daneil said, taking the sword in his hands and examining it.
“As do the people that mend it, most likely.”
“Well, we will send it to Japan. In the mean time, you will have to use your backup sword. It shouldn't be more than two or three days.” Daneil said, taking the holster from Yekatrina as she handed it over to him.
“Thank you, sir.” she responded.
“We have some new information on Deron, I'm afraid.”
“Why are you afraid?” Luke asked, elbow resting on the armrest, with a finger on his chin. “Well, it concerns one of our own with suspicion of treason.” Daneil explained.
“Who?” Yekatrina asked.
“Derick. I have information in my desk as to his reasons. They are of greed and the usual. He's knows too much to be let over to Deron's side.”
“Yes, but he doesn't know that much.” Luke said.
“That may be true, but he knows enough about the layout to give Deron an advance on us. We can't risk anything. He needs to be taken care of.”
“No. You cannot ask me to do that. I'm sorry Daneil, but that's something I cannot do. He's my friend.” Yekatrina said, holding her hand up.
“Yes, I realize this, but something needs to be done about this situation, Yekatrina!” Daniel said.
“And I realize that, but what if it is something that is not true? The document could as well be forged and completely false! You know this as well as I do!” the girl argued.
“Do not speak to me like that! I brought you into this agency, and I can as well take you out of it with just the same ease.” Daneil said, getting upset.
“I'm sorry, sir.. But that is how I feel.” Yekatrina said with more caution.
“I know it is, and you are right on some level. We should not dispose of him yet, but we must keep an eye on him, alright?” The two nodded in response.
“You two should go and get your rest. Tomorrow is another day.”
The two rose from their seats, bowing their heads slightly. Yekatrina curtsied and Luke bowed slightly. They took a few steps back and then exited the room, closing the door behind themselves. The two walked to their separate offices to get their coats and leave for the night.
The two occupied the same elevator again and walked out together, turning in opposite directions to go home. Yekatrina buried her mouth and nose in her collar of her coat once again, walking with her hands in her pockets. It would be another cold night in Moscow.

* * *
One thought ran through a blond girl's mind as she sat on a bench in the middle of Red Square, doing nothing but staring at the ground. Her family was supposed to care and be with her. Of course not. With a drunken father and a mother that didn't care, she was surprised they even gave her a decent amount of money to live off of for two months.
A bruise was gradually getting less and less noticeable on her arm, and it didn't hurt anymore. It was just there at that point, occupying space on her arm. As the blond girl thought, she still maintained a somewhat cool attitude, trying to see the brighter side of things. Even if there wasn't one.
'I'm sure there are plenty of cute men in Russia. I mean, I know enough Russian to get by, and maybe meet some new people. This can't be that bad. Maybe a blessing in disguise.' she thought to herself, not wanting to actually verbalize it.
Her eyes were fixed on one stone in the ground, watching the snow build up on it, burying it beneath its white color and soft weight. She reached her leg out, and stomped on the stone to make an imprint of the bottom of her shoe, satisfied with the result of a perfect mold.
The young girl looked up in time to see a dark woman walk across Red Square, holding her head high and proud. Her coat was very white, but something else about her was dark. The girl couldn't put her finger on it, but she knew that it was something she wanted to figure out. This was someone she wanted to meet. She watched the woman cross the square, wondering about her career, and what she did to make her stay out this late. The young girl would have approached her if she was brave enough, but instead she kicked the snow at her feet and stood up, ready to go back to her hotel room.
“Well, looks like I'll never know.”
The teenage girl rose to her feet and looked at the woman that gradually got smaller as she walked further and further away, contemplating to follow her. She knew it wasn't a wise decision, so she decided against it. She knew there was more than meets the eye about this woman, but she didn't know what it was. Maybe she was a spy for Russia, or even a killer. For all the blond haired girl knew, that dark woman didn't even have to be real.
She just hoped they would run into each other soon.

* * *

Thursday, April 9, 2009


Originally uploaded by ShatteredMartialArtist
People need to get away. Run away, never come back.
Don't look back...
(They're watching you.) Close, closer...
On your back. Get off, get off.
God, shake it, shaken times.
Run as fast as you can. Outrun them.
Fast, go faster, make it. You can't.
(They're gaining on you.) Oh no, no, no. This isn't true.
Run past the house. Past the fence. Past the dog.
Over the bridge. Through the glass.
Tell me, what were you planning.
Is this what you really want. Circle the drain. Throw it away.
Run, you fool.
(No, give up.)
Energy is low. Can't go on.
Hurry now, hurry.
Come on slowpoke, faster.
Breathing heavy. Chest on fire. Legs giving out.
Wind... Cold. Feel it.
Through the hair. Grass under the feet.
Pound the ground. Keep going.
(You're never going to make it. They're faster)
Go. Now. Run. Fast.
Place faith in me. Listen.
Succeed. Keep going. Don't stop.
(No. Faith is not worth it. You're failing. You're done.)

Thursday, March 26, 2009

In Times of Hurt

"There are those hearts, reader, that never mend again once they are broken. Or if they do mend, they heal themselves in a crooked and lopsided way, as if sewn together by a careless craftsman." - The Tale of Despereaux

Hearts break, and people fall. Of course, the one that has had their heart broken are the ones that fall so quickly. Maybe it's because of an attachment, or maybe it's just because of they way they looked when doing it. When a person says they're sorry, they usually show some sort of emotion, along the lines of sadness, regret... But when a person shows nothing... That's when it hurts the most.
And then they try to pass off their confusion and lack of sympathy as you trying to blame them. Even though you should, but you won't. They get defensive and tell you that you should not be telling them what they are and are not. But it's how you felt. They told you how they felt, so why can you not tell them your side? Yes it hurts, but everything hurts. If it was a day, a week, a month, a year... They all hurt.
And then... not knowing what to say... Hurts most of all. What do you do? Stay friends? Become enemies? Maybe neither. Your head tells you to hate them, but your heart tells you otherwise. So which do you listen to? Head, or heart? In times like these, in hurt times, it's hard to choose which one to listen to.
But you're tired of all this. You're tired of hurt, pain, loneliness, regret... You're tired of not sleeping, of the guilt, of the heartbreak.... And you don't want to deal with it anymore, but it's life and it's one of many things to go wrong. To not go according to plan. You've shed your tears, but at points in time, they come back.
So for the night, you will sit on the edge of your roof and ignore the phone that sits beside you, teetering back and fourth, wondering what would happen if you teetered just a little too far forward...

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Monday, March 16, 2009

Pull Me Along

You know, leading someone on is never good. Whether you tell them early on or late, it still sucks. For either person. Why would you want to do that anyway? It's not like it's fun. And if it is, then you've got something wrong. I mean, why would you want to do that? Pretend that you want someone, you want to have them, hold them, date them, whatever, then do a complete 360 and turn them around? It's not fair to them if they had no warning.
Why do people do this? Is it the fact that one person is so emotionally weak and looking for that one person to have and to hold, that they would do anything? Or is it the fact that you just find it fun to bet on the person you can make fall for you? These little things in life are the things that make us want to scream, but these things also make us become who we are. Sometimes a heartbreak is the thing that can kill you, or make you. Hopefully it makes you because if you die, you've lost a very important part of your life.
I could be just rambling at this stage, but when I type these things, I just let my fingers go and write down exactly what I'm thinking, and nothing less.
People are beings that... Find the simplest humor in torture of another. Emotionally, physically or mentally. Any way they can get you to squirm, they'll do it. They're the most sadistic. But a heart is something that should never, ever be played with. The heart is one thing that a person needs most. If a person cannot trust, they cannot love. And a life without love, is a life not worth living.
But with trust and love, there comes betrayal and heartbreak. With those two things, there comes inevitable sadness and anger. When things first play out for the worse, sadness is the first feeling to come. Usually, but not always. Sometimes the sadness isn't so bad, depending on the severity of the wound. But a lot of the time, anger controls you. And when anger controls a person, bad things may happen.
Wow, I got off topic...
In short, people are... basically... sadistic. They hurt and kill without knowing, but with pleasure. It's a horrible experience, but it's one that everyone goes through because we all have a heart. We all have emotions, whether or not we want to admit it. Being lead on sucks. Being pulled along on a string, helplessly...

Friday, March 13, 2009


A dog barked and ran. The soft thuds of each paw hitting the earth was muffled by the grass. The round, green and purple tennis ball flew out of the hand of a somewhat tall girl, laughing as she enjoyed the game of fetch.
The yard was big, but it was not hers. She didn't even know why she was there. She threw the ball hard. Over a hill and down the other side. The dog didn't even run after it. The girl ran to the ball, her brown hair back in a ponytail. She bent down to pick up the ball, her knees making a slightly sickening crack as she lowered herself.
Soft footsteps were heard behind her, startling her. She quickly turned around and saw three men, two friends and her significant other. All three were brothers, but only two by blood.
A smile started to snake its way across her face, but quickly faded once a gun with a silencer was raised. It was a MGC Ingram M11 Heavy Weight. A friend shot the ball from her hand, face showing no emotion. He raised it a little higher, and that's when she ran.
She ran through woods. The path was narrow and heavily wooded, she had to swerve, jump and move out of the way so she didn't fall. Tree branches hit her, cut her and slowed her down. Their roots came out of the ground in many parts, making her jump over them.
Four women blocked the path. An elderly grandmother, a mother and two daughters.
They're trying to kill me. There's something going on.
But they didn't giver her a second thought. Her lungs were on fire, her legs were weak, and she felt the blood that still ran warm in her veins, running through her system. They were all behind her, swift and silent.
She was sure to be finished until she saw a long, stone pathway, with grass on either side. The president at the very end of the pathway. Few people were there, but enough were. She fell before the president and stayed there.
He was so nice.
She looked back and there he was. Her lover, her romancer. He was being swift, cutting onto the grass. She lost it. The brown haired girl yelled, ran and attacked him, tackling him to the ground.
She hit him over, and over again, blue eyes filling with tears.
'How could you?! You're supposed to protect me!' She hit him again. 'You're supposed to love me!'
She rolled off of him and took his face in bother pale hands. 'We've known each other so long!'
He pinned her to the ground so she couldn't harm him anymore. He tried to calm her down as she cried. He picked her up and held her, sitting in a tree, holding her in his arms.
'When am I supposed to die?'
'When you look at the president.'
'But he's over there.'
He was to her side. She looked back to see a man dressed in all black, standing a few feet away with a gun. The same gun. She screamed, jumped down and ran to protect herself. Someone was running around, trying to protect her, but it was her lover, who shot her.
She looked at him as he lowered the gun, and she fell.
'I never did.'