However on this night, I was writing. (This is uncommon due to the fact that I am currently being plagued by the notorious bane of a writer's existence; writer's block.)
On this particular night the gods were merciful and this is what came out;
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Her shoulders were hunched, bent down towards the dense wooden desk. Faint clicking sounds came from the keys as her fingers beat out a furious cadence.
Only one more day to turn in this article, it had to be done.
They had sent her to find a story, oh she'd found one.
Her fingers paused, hovering over the keyboard for a moment as she questioned herself inwardly wondering if exposing something this huge was in her best interest.
She straightened for a moment to relieve the pressure that had build up in her back. She never could sit with the proper posture. No matter how many times she had tried, her body would just sink back into itself hunching forward over the desk.
The dimly lit room came alive again with the sounds of typing as she resumed the furious cadence.
The story came to life on the screen as her fingers flew, creating a masterpiece.
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Down the hall a floorboard creaked, a foot froze cautiously in place.
The dark form listened for a moment fearing their presence had been made known, but the faint clicking noises flowed uninterrupted.
One foot raised again continuing down the hall in and unhurried fashion, the body leaned towards the wall not quite touching it, cold metal rested in the hands whose grip was strong and sure.
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At first, they had wired her two million dollars for the hit, "Make it quiet." they had said.
"For two mil, you get a hit," she had replied adjusting the dark glasses on her face, "double your price and you'll get quick, quiet and a stellar clean up."
For a moment the party had considered, the lined face looked as if its mouth would spit out words of denial, but instead it had growled "Take care of it."
Her thin lips turned up in a quick smile, gone before the old eyes across from her had noticed. She could charge this much if she wanted, she was the best and they would not go to anyone else.
She leaned back in her chair languidly "Aces."
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She approached the door with caution, it was open, the typing continued, the hunched form was oblivious to the impending doom.
The typist's dark bangs fell into her eyes, she pushed them away with an impatient hand.
Outside the room the assassin froze, her keen ears had picked up the pause in the double hand cadence.
She slid her hand to her thigh carefully withdrawing a knife. She flipped it in her hand, the blade was not shiny, it was a dull grey, but razor sharp, sure to slice through a body as if it were air.
Once the typing resumed, the assassin entered closing in on her prey.
The typist straightened and smiled slightly, "I've been waiting for you."
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I have no idea what this is or where its going but, I thought I might give ya'll something entertaining to read.
Cheers
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