Contemplating Life.

Contemplating Life.


Jet-Setting. Seeing the World. Thrilling. New place every day. Extraordinary to some. Cheap thrills for others. Honestly what am I doing? Each and every day I’m reminded that I’m getting older. What kind of life is this? It isn’t where I thought I’d be at 31. Single Woman. No children. No man to speak of. On top of everything else; Professional Killer. Here I am contemplating life. Biological clock is ticking and there’s no way to turn it off. City to city. Day after day. Life out of a suitcase. Taking each and every job to make that magic number come to fruition. Unfulfilling. New York to London, Bangkok, Thailand, Tokyo, Moscow, Amsterdam, back to London. And don’t even get me started on the jobs in the states. Dreary and tacky people. At least in Paris they have a sense of style a ‘je ne sais quoi.’ Don’t get me wrong killing is single-handedly the most exhilarating experience I’ve ever known. But there comes a point when you start to think ‘There has to be more.’ I’ve haven’t had a vacation in 5 years. My life is a complete disconnect from everyone I know and love. Has to be more to life. Maybe I just want more. I don’t fit. Square peg in a round hole.

There is no guidebook on killing. No one tells you how easy it is to kill a man and the danger of falling into a routine. Where the fuck am I today? Some cheap hotel, down a back alley, through the back roads and corners of this city to find this job; my last one. This one, well on top of international fraud from five of the world’s deadliest and affluent men, he’s cheating on his wife. Here in this brothel, not a very nice one either. You know he’s loaded from all the stealing, and yet here he can’t even drop a dime on a nice place to… Well cut back to me sitting here, in this black lacy mess of lingerie, wasted lingerie. I can not believe where I am, waiting in this room in the dark for this man to emerge from the toilet so I can get this over with. Gun is hidden in my garter. Probably won’t even need it. This one is really gullible. I can hardly believe he’s the mastermind behind this level of fraud.

Snapped his neck. I was right didn’t need the gun. Stupid pudgy middle aged man. His wallet is full of cash and three forms of fake identification. What a moron! One is actually his real identity. Who travels with real papers? Shit. Someone who is just a pawn in a bigger game. This idiot wasn’t the brains behind the operation. Simply a decoy. Worst turnabout would be that this isn’t my guy after all. Or is it? That would be the dumbest smart move I’d seen yet. Send in a sheep disguised as a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Three IDs to lead anyone down the wrong path. Anyone trying to kill the obvious of the three would assume the worst, while the man behind the scam shows up to collect. Bigger fish means bigger reward and my permanent vacation. Downtime to appreciate the simple things that others take for granted. A home. Family. Children. One thing for sure, I wouldn’t be caught like this, being used as a pawn to steal while I engage in numerous betrayals against my loved ones.

Leaning against the window, I quietly enjoy one of Mr. Imposter’s fine cigars and a fine dark wine. This is nice. When the hell am I going to be able to do this for myself? Damn. A few minutes taken for selfish amusement interrupted when the corner of the alley reveals that my true instincts are on point. Enter Sergei Melanska. Fully clad in black his shadow emerges and heads toward the fire escape. Glad to see I wasn’t wrong. Sadly there’s comfort knowing my original mark was a mistake. No man that idiotic could have come up with this. But back to the larger illusion, my instructions were to leave hours ago; failure to comply would null the contract. Payment would be wired to an undisclosed account upon proof of death. However the risk is worth it. Double down. Killing Sergei would be eliminating the middle man. And it wouldn’t be the first time I’d double crossed Sergei for money. Men can be so incredibly stupid sometimes. Two years ago Sergei had been something of a ladies man and I used that to my advantage. Manipulated him into bed so I could steal The Wycana Jewels for a client. No death required. Use ‘em and lose ‘em. Sergei was just another one night stand. Another unimportant man that I didn’t love along the way. To say it wasn’t fun at the time would be lying. The thrill of seducing a man always did have its rewards. But there should have been more. Unfortunately these types of men could never be more.

Never saw it coming. No big eyes. No surprise. Death upon entry. Between the eyes. Two down. One very cheap negligee. At least Sergei had more cash on hand than the Fabulous Faux I was entertaining earlier. Sergei’s contact information provides me with a little more info about my employer. From the looks of the financing it appears to be one of the five. Appears I may have caught myself a pretty big fish. Just what I need another job. Another trip around the world. Another useless man in my bed. No real connections. No home to call my home. This isn’t what I was looking for at all. Yet I’m still entertaining the thought. What am I thinking? Why not? Maybe there isn’t more.

This is the one from July that I just found a few days ago. I felt it to be unfinished and delved in to play a little more. Oddly enough it was pretty much complete... I just pulled at it a little more. It came to me while I was in SF for a stint and when I returned I had typed up the notes then somehow forgot about it. I'm kind of glad I found it cause for some reason this one speaks to me right now. please ask. it's just something I wrote almost six months ago... Anyhow still writing in between furniture moves. Enjoy. kisses, m.