She was silent as death itself, moving with no particular haste, but with all particular precision. The target sat in the center of his living room, immersed in a simulation of chess. Mr. Glasgov, the ambassador from Moscow, was still quite dangerous to the state. Although his body fell victim to old age, his mind certainly did not. Every bit of the sharpness and acuity from his time in the KGB still remained, trapped inside a feeble old carcass.
She floated her finger to the trigger, shielding most of her body behind a marble pillar. The barrel locked onto the back of his head of white. This was a kill shot.
"What is your name, child?" Mr. Glasgov's voice was a gravel baritone; the kind with capacity for both delicacy and malice. His eyes did not stray from the chess board.
The instant that he had spoken, she slid open a compartment on her vest, and retrieved a small capsule. But before she could swallow, Mr. Glasgov turned around, and a bullet pierced through her palm. Blood began to pool from her hand, onto the checkered floor. The girl remained expressionless.
"I asked you what your name was, child. Answer me." His stoic eyes shifted upwards, and under the harsh yellow of the living room light, seemed almost amused.
"I have no name." She looked to her hand, eyes unshaken, face entirely blank. Mr. Glasgov found himself intrigued by her, and for the first time in perhaps thirty years, he left someone alive by his own accord.
"Come here," he ordered. The child hesitated, but upon realizing that she would either die today or tomorrow, complied.
"Sit." He gestured to the board. "Do you know how to play?" He looked expectantly, but she shook her head. Mr. Glasgov sighed.
"I will teach you. Then, we play. If you win, I die. If I win, you die." He placed his pistol on the cushion beside him, and rearranged the pieces to their start of game positions.
The child was as silent as death itself, moving with no particular haste, but with all particular precision. The target sat in the E8 square. She floated her fingers to the white queen, expressionless eyes narrowing in concentration. The queen locked onto G6.
This was a kill shot.
YOU ARE READING
2021 Writing
Художественная прозаI've challenged myself to try and write (not every single day because I have miserably failed T_T) consistently in 2021. Hope to cultivate my craft as a writer! c :
