Wrote this short story for Writer's Guild. We were to do a story or poem containing the words/phrases: Empty soda can, magnet, stuffed dog, book, something blue. This is what I came up with. Whatcha think?
We Don’t Exist
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It’s been three days since the target checked in to the hotel, and not one sighting worth a clean shot. I popped open a can of cola as I sit and watch the hotel. Nothing. Grumbling, I got up and paced for a bit, before going back and checking the scope again. Still nothing. I hate waiting, but our orders were clear. Command wanted a clean kill. No witnesses, no collateral damage. No excuses. I returned to pacing, which caused my partner to look up from his book.
“Would you stop it all ready? The shot will come, it always does.”
I glared at him, and he stared back. I hate it when he does that.
“I wish the shot would come all ready, then.”
He returned to his book, supremely unconcerned. “Patience. We just have to wait.”
I started grumbling again as I resumed pacing. “I hate waiting.”
That got a laugh out of him and he put the book away before picking up that stupid stuffed dog of his. “Who’s a grumpy hit man? Huh?” Unbelievable. He was pretending it could talk. I drained my soda and threw the empty can at him. He blocked it with the dog and laughed. Jerk. He taped a magnet to the dog and stuck it next to his bed. He knew the thing annoyed me. I think that’s why he kept it after we took out that Korean CEO. I think it was a gift for his daughter. I don’t really care either.
I checked the scope again, then did a double-take. He was walking out the door of the hotel! I didn’t know who this guy was, and I didn’t care. All I knew was that he’d earned the wrath of my superiors. I checked up and down the street. Nobody. Perfect. I grabbed my rifle and opened the window. Taking careful aim at his back, I pulled the trigger and sent a .30-06 round into his back, right through the heart. Clean kill. No witnesses. Mission complete.
I laughed as his red blood spilled over his tailored blue suit. My partner confirmed the kill, got the pictures, and set to packing. While he got our few belongings together, I drenched the entire apartment in gasoline and alcohol and shoved a gas-soaked newspaper in the toaster.
My partner headed out the door and I started the toaster before closing the door and following. No witnesses. No evidence. We don’t exist.