Wildflowers and Daggers

01: The Kill List

Ella

I was number three on The Kill List, but it was fair. I had murdered my fair share of people. Eye for an eye, or so the saying went. However, no one said that they didn't deserve it. For me, it was just a job. I wasn't paid in money, but in revenge. Every government hypocrite I killed, the closer I got to avenging my parents' death. At least, that's what I told myself.

I polished my purple dagger every night. I lived by the remnants of a beach along the coast, so I snuck through the red tape at night to sit on the unmaintenanced sand. The dagger sat on my lap, reflecting the light of the full moon as I slid the cloth over its smooth surface. The waves calmed the anger inside my soul, and so did the dagger. I smiled to myself, remembering how my mother would sneak me out at night to sit here with her, watching the waves grow closer and closer over the rough sand that had smoothed out over years of the beaches being closed.

I missed her dearly. On nights like this, I both hated and loved the way the sound of the waves made me feel. It was nostalgic, but almost an ugly kind of nostalgic the more I thought about the loss of what once was. I used to have it so good, and I never even realized how perfect my life used to be compared to what it was now.

I also missed my dad, but he was different. Mom was a free spirit, even if she was head scientist for the government. Dad, on the other hand, was cautious. Overly cautious, even. In the end, caution still brought him to the morgue. So, I decided to live whatever was left of my life to the fullest, even if it meant living on the edge.

  I heard footsteps. I had been trained to always listen, for even the smallest sound could mean my demise. They grew closer. I stiffened. I held my dagger in a death grip, getting up from my sitting position to a low squat. The waves were loud tonight, almost drowning out the muffled feet against sand. Then laughter. It floated on the air, carefree as a seagull squawking. It was a girl's laugh, and it heavily reminded me of my mother; high pitched, a voice aggravating to those except the ones who grew to love it.

Two figures appeared over the sand dunes. Their hands seemed to be clasped together, faces close, a male voice ringing through the night, telling the girl to be quiet. He was right. None of us should have been out there. It was dangerous, illegal, but freeing.

They didn't notice me as they walked down the small mound of sand, voices clashing as the girl laughed and the boy shushed her over and over again. It almost reminded me of my parents. My mother the carefree, uncaring spirit, my father ever the voice of caution. I could hear their voices on the young couple, who I now knew meant no harm. I pushed up onto my feet, rocked on my heels to gain my balance, and stooped over to pick up my cleaning cloth. I knew they meant no harm, but I wanted to be alone. I was a lone ranger, I feared alone forever.

They noticed me when they were less than a yard away. They were walking towards me, I was walking away at an angle. It was then that I noticed his features: sharp nose, square jaw, tousled black hair. The unmistakable mask he hid his emotions behind. The mask of a politician. It was then that I knew I couldn't have a night of peace. Not that I had really known peace since the night my parents were executed. But still, it would be nice to have a night off every now and then.

Hewitt Gardner. More than a politician. A High General. Elected into office, one of the few still elected and not following a family line. Elected for his charm, wit, and I'll admit probably his good looks. The girl next to him must've been his newest girlfriend, Cheryl Grabdoss the papers had announced the day before. She had long, blonde hair, dark eyes, and a scattering of freckles reflected in the moonlight. Seemed like a nice girl, not one who should witness what was about to come next. But I couldn't help it. I was good at my job.

I knew he recognized me. I was all over the government tabloids, something only government officials got. It was all computerized of course, went straight to your government issued tablet. My mother's still worked. I knew I was wanted. And when you're on The Kill List, any government worker who sees you in public is free to kill you. But I also had a list. A list of my own: The Murder List. A play on words, always mocking the government. This is the list that assassins working for The Wildflowers, the biggest resistance yet, got sent each week. And Hewitt Gardner? He was at the very top.