Da Host: Wakefield Mahon
- The story must start from the prompt. This means the prompt must be the first words in the story.
- No more than 500 words (not including the prompt). No less than 100 words.
- Any genre (in fact an unexpected genre will get you more points.)
- Entries must be submitted by Tuesday Noon EST
- The winner of each week’s competition will be invited to judge the following week and post the winner’s badge similar to the one on the right.
- Have fun!
Well, that was unexpected.
The last few moments played back in my mind frame by frame, slowed by the utter shock that gripped my mind.
Ayana was a sweet girl. Always had been. So, to find that she was the person sent to kill me was quite a surprise. I didn’t see it until the very last moment.
She always had the damned Hello Kitty bag. Today was no different and I paid it no mind, the same way I paid her no mind. Until I heard that too-familiar click.
I turned slowly, hands out. She stood comfortably, arm loose at her side, gun pointed at my head. She wouldn’t have to do much to make it count considering how close she was.
I hadn’t noticed how much she’d grown since she started working for me. She’d come a scraggly 15-year-old, scarred, withdrawn. There wasn’t a lot for a young girl to do as a private investigation agency, but I found things for her here and there. Having something to do seemed to have worked well for her.
Five years later, I saw no trace of that girl behind the gun.
“A little unnecessary to cock the gun, don’t you think?” I asked, trying to be flippant. I didn’t know what would work with her. I’d never studied her as an enemy.
“It got you to turn around,” she answered plainly.
I shrugged. “You could have just called my name. Hell, you could have just shot me. Why the theatrics?”
“Isn’t that part of this whole thing?” she asked. I wasn’t quite sure what she was referring to. This job? Her killing me? Her backstabbing me? Her life?
“Not for everybody it’s not,” I said, finding my teeth gritted, my jaw aching. I could try for my gun. Wasn’t it worth trying?
“I like it, though. The showy part of,” she paused, waving the gun around a bit. “Playing cops and robbers.”
“We’re not playing,” I said, looking pointedly at her gun.
“No one ever said a game couldn’t be serious,” she said. “I’m still playing even if the piece is real.” She took a step toward me and I didn’t move backwards. She seemed surprised and continued to stare into my face for long, choking moments. “Aren’t you going to ask why?”
“It doesn’t really matter to me,” I grunted.
“Sure it does,” she laughed, taking another step closer. I could smell her hair. It was just as sweet as her. “And it’s not because I didn’t like you.” She got on her toes, gun pressing into my chest. “I liked you.” She kissed my mouth, her lips soft, dry. She moved her mouth across my neck. “I liked you a lot. But this served my purpose.” I didn’t ask what that purpose was. “It’s hard to set up Farraway without a dead body to blame him for,” she murmured.
A lightbulb went off just as the gun did. They were both unexpected.
And that’s all she wrote. But you can still write yours, or check out the other great entries. Deadline is Noon tomorrow.