Sniper duty, what a royal pain in the a**. I'm supposed to cover the inauguration of such and such who will be becoming the insert government position here. The orders were so boring I stopped listening two minutes in, just letting my internal memory record the thing. Gods damn military, I hate it here. Ironically, I'm remarkably good at killing people even though I don't look it. I mean coppery brown skin, silver blue hair, yellow eyes and undeniably female. Hell. It's hard enough not being human, it's even worse in an organization of mostly men and you look like a good time. But you can't have a walking killing machine running amok in your country, at least that's what they tell me so now, I'm in a building, in mid August already getting heat warnings in the corner of my vision, waiting to make sure no one kills the old, paunchy, balding, white guy. Why is it always old, paunchy, balding, white guys?
"Hey. Cheer up buttercup."
Oh yeah, I'm not alone either. I don't bother to drag my gaze to the muscle I've been stuck with, like I can't take care of myself. Admittedly, while he's a white guy, he is neither old, paunchy, or balding, so it could be worse. Probably. I can feel my scowl deepen none the less, pet names make me want to kill someone...More so than usual.
"Oh, so I have to be happy to shoot people?" I retort, quite ready to incapacitate him if he lays a hand on me. I'm almost hoping he might so I have half an excuse to rid myself of his presence. Out of my peripherals I can see him stare out of the window.
"You seemed happy enough when you were on the front." He replied, infuriatingly calmly. I snort, eyes still scanning outside. The ceremony is just starting, so I tilt my hat down over my eyes to minimize the glare, not bothering to reply. I can hear the speech clearly, the usual drivel, hoping to make a difference in the community, change is eminent, blah, blah, blah. It's like politicians never have anything new to say. Insufferable idiots.
"You know," My companion muses, almost as if we haven't been silent for almost a half hour. "If the assassin does show up, you have to respect them a little."
"Before or after I shoot them?" I ask dryly.
"Well, 'even if he dies in a ditch, a man should die falling forward'." He sounds like he's quoting. No wonder I couldn't be bothered to remember his name.
"Who said that?" I ask, not really caring, more for the sake of conversation than anything else. I'm stuck here with him after all, for at least another hour. "Some old, dead, white guy?"
"Asian, actually."
"Mmph." I have the urge to turn around and shoot this man in the leg, maybe later, when I'm not under direct orders not to do so. "If you fall forward you were likely killed from behind which means that you were either taken by surprise because you're an idiot or you failed to make sure you properly cleared you path, which makes you a lazy idiot. Either way, you get a face full of dirt as you expire which is undignified and I thought that was a big no-no for dying. But to sum up we have a lazy idiot dying undignified with a face full of dirt in a ditch." I pause for a minute before I say, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I see how you'd have to respect that."
I can hear him take a breath to reply, but something outside changes, a glint of metal, a gasp from bystanders near by and I pull the trigger, shooting the b*****d in the head. I watch, mildly amused as he topples forward, panic starting to spread in the crowd as I close the window and pull the blinds.
"Nice shot." I don't smile at his words, just push my hat back up a little. This doesn't deter him however, he continues to talk, like there had been no interruption. "If a man dies falling forward, he dies moving towards a goal, striving for something he believed in."
I don't reply right away, starting to pack up my stuff. I still have to wait for the crowd to clear but I need something to do to keep my hands busy. "You could easily die falling forward if you were running away like a pansy too." I'm starting to get irritated, I don't care if a man dies falling forward, backwards, sideways, straight down even. A dead man is a dead man.
"Metaphorically forward, Sunshine." He replies, sighing slightly. Good maybe he'll shut up soon. "And isn't striving towards a goal or an ideal something to respect?"
I shrug not willing to submit myself to any more of this conversation. I sit against the wall staring idly at my hands, there's a little tear in the skin and a spark jumps between them. It'll fix. "Hey." I grunt after a while. Searching my memory bank for his name before pulling it up. "Connor, you got a smoke?"
Wordlessly he hands me one, already lit, and I take a drag, the oxygen sensors in my 'lungs' spazzing out. I exhale slowly, watching the smoke trail out of my mouth and into the darkened room. Goals eh? Who needs 'em? I flick my cigarette and watch the ashes drop to the floor, smoking lazily for a moment before the ember flickers out and dies.
ayoura Community Member 
|
|
