General Fiction posted January 30, 2018

Not yet exceptional. When the exceptional rating is reached this is highlighted
She's got a job to do, but sometimes it isn't that simple.


by Tadite

The author has placed a warning on this post for violence.
The house had a relatively easy lock--she was able to pick it in less than two minutes.


The figure walked quietly, looking around confidently, sparing no time in being sneaky.

It was always nice to get a little work done before dinner.

She opened the first door she found slowly, but the door creaked as it moved anyway. There was a short woman wearing a grey beanie over her light brown hair rising from a black swivel chair behind a wooden desk.
The figure smiled to herself.

Easy as pie.

The figure felt the wood under her foot slightly give, and a sound rose from the ground, grabbing the attention of the woman beside the desk.

The figure took the pistol from the holster on her right hip, raising it so it was aimed right at the woman's head. The woman turned and faced the figure.

Neither talked, neither breathed.

Their eyes grew large.

The silence felt like it was pushing against their heads and chests.

"V-Vicky?" the woman asked, her voice shaking.

The figure faltered, but only for a moment, bringing the gun back up from where it had slumped.

The figure knew she couldn't back down now. She knew what happened if she went back without the kill.

"I'm sorry," the figure said, looking away for a moment, allowing her chin to fall.

"It's okay," the woman said softly, taking a step forward with her arms outstretched, ignoring the gun.

The figure tried to resist for only a second before deciding against it. She let the woman hug her. And for perhaps the first time, she hugged back.

"It's okay," the woman repeated. The figure nodded almost as though in a trance, and in one swift motion, she took a small step back, put the gun above the woman's left ear, and fired.

Usually she would have shot through the stomach. The people she got paid to take out generally deserved the added pain that came with slowly bleeding out.

Not this one. She knew better.

The figure closed her eyes, catching and holding the body up in a one-sided hug. She felt the warm blood on her skin, smearing it with red.

She felt sick to her stomach at how the embrace was still comforting despite how it was her fault the body was so limp and inanimate.

After a moment, she let go, but turned away quickly.

That didn't stop her from hearing the thump of the body falling against the floor, or from feeling her chest tighten as though hearing the thump took the air from her lungs.

The figure left the house.

The police wouldn't figure it out. They never did.

When asked why she didn't shoot the woman below her ribs like the figure normally would have, the figure wouldn't respond.

Maybe that was for the best.

Assassinate Me A Thriller! writing prompt entry
Writing Prompt
In 500 words or less, write a thriller (or/and horror) prose involving an assassin/assassination or hitman/hitwoman. No poetry or script, please. Be creative and have fun! :)
Pays one point and 2 member cents.

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