Bloated buildings reflect the undisturbed smoke ascending accompanied by monotonous whirring. Billowing clouds grasp at the tendrils of smoke and unresolved ire as it makes ever moving images of children's imagination. Tree leaves sway with soft whispers, thickets of thorns swish back and forth with desperation, seeking wind's consolation. Constellation and moon are blotted out with the bland strokes of nimbus clouds and the solidarity of lonely tree trunks for antagonistic souls.
A figure takes comfort in theses resurrected shadows that will soon again die. She walks on the dewy grass and relishes the comforting glow that comes from the yellow bricked house. Moving in a practiced manner, she slides open the window. Carefully picking at the screen, she pushes it out of her way and gently feels for grooves in the walls. Cicadas buzz, crickets chirp and her hands grabbed the thick ledge while her feet found a give in the sodden soil to propulse up. Quickly regaining her balance on the window sill, she cautiously plants her foot on the hard floor, wincing at the slight creak of ancient wood.
She evens out her breathing and casts a fleeting glance at the sleeping figure across the room, relaxing slightly to hear no hitch or holding of breath. She proceeds with the utmost awareness, approaching the rickety wooden desk with an even less reliable computer adorning it, fiddling (more like fussing) with the inconvenient layout of it as she tries to finish the one task entrusted to her.
Then she heard hushed voices and almost darts out of the cramped room.
Listening, she regains her wits a moment later. Eyeing the closet left to desk and right in front of her, she creeps towards it with as much speed as possible. She kept on her toes and moves precariously as the voices become louder. Looking over her shoulder, her breath quickens. Reaching out for it's door, she heard the telltale clicking of the twisting doorknob behind.
She flings herself at the foot of the bed, a blind spot from the door, and onto the spongy rug that she had before gone on a cursing tirade about and now reverently blessed. She clutches at her shirt with her back against the bed frame, bringing her knees as close to her as she can. She feels small. Her heartbeat beats erratically and tightens her throat with anxiety as she closes her eyes hard enough for her ears to slightly rumble. If they found her now, this junior mission of hers would be a complete failure. And she can't fail. Not only because of Cyrus but because she genuinely likes Ben.
She hears the voices but didn't bother listening to any of it as the shadows filter onto the closet door.Her heartbeat thumps harder. Garish yellow light outlines them, stretching them out against the uneven surfaces. They're gesticulating wildly and she just wishes they would leave so she can get this over with, leave so that she can get out of this horrible position, leave so that she can get out without being caught and jeopardizing her friendship and trust.
The door closed and she stayed crouched. She started to breathe again and struggled to keep it quiet. The silhouettes were once more gone, unable to thwart reality or dreams. Silently moving his things around and placing the bugs, she looks for anything else to do.
She looks back at him, curled up with his back facing her. She calms and her mind quietens a little.
"Good night." She smiles slightly.
She makes her ways towards the window, both wondering how his parents didn't notice the wide open window and applauding her foresight to drug him so he wouldn't wake during whatever ordeal had just then happened.
Creeping out even more carefully than before, she lands on the wet soil and leans on the cool brick wall to make sure she doesn't slip.
Reaching up, she closes the glass with a muted click after debating what to do with the screen. She decided to leave it in his room. She gives him one more look before walking off to her route near the lake, veering off onto the street five or six houses down.
The harsh white streetlights illuminate her path and her, rugged shadows of her moving body following incessantly down every turn and step like an overseeing deity. She shoves her hands into her pockets and forges through the knuckle biting cold. Her hair, with some strands askew, and plastered to her forehead is her only protector against the cold, forming a defensive shield that covers the back her neck and sides of her throat.
She kicks a few a rocks during her journey that all eventually ricochet away from her and down the rusty sewers, resembling one of the rare joys even her scattered and broken childhood held.
When she lackadaisically approaches the nauseating blighted sign that shows off the fibbing message of: MOTEL. POOL AND FREE CLEANING, she knows she reached her destination. She grabs her keys from one of the many small compartments of her utility belt, connecting each step forwards as a second closer to being done. She glanced around the cheap courtyards of Bermuda grass and plastic lawn chairs as smoke continues to wane out into the night.
Reaching Room 58, she turns the knob. She kicks off her shoes, tuning into some history channel program playing as she comes face to face with microwavable ramen sitting on the small kitching counter as Tina Cuevo's eyes flit from her to the outdated magazine in her lap.
She crosses her legs and offers a tired smile.
"I made you some food," she says, pointing towards the ramen. "It was the only thing I could get with the CIA's tight budget."
Erica nods and makes her way towards the dingy counter before hesitantly poking said food with a plastic fork, her lips down turning slightly. Tina notices.
Groaning, she puts the back of her manicured hand to her forehead and sets down the rolled magazine displaying the title of 'Taylor Swift! and 5 Facts That Will Blow Your Mind.' "
"Please!" she sighs out dramatically as she flips her head lower over the headrest, "spare me from the food lecture! Anymore scoldings from you and I might actually become a child instead of just feeling like one."
Erica almost smiles at that as she shakes her head slightly. Grabbing the questionable cup of ramen, she settles onto the striped couch next to Tina, slowly picking and placing the ramen on her mouth. Tina nods approvingly before returning her attention to whatever gossip her magazine was ranting of. Erica relaxed slightly and half-heartedly watched the nature documentary. If this was what being a spy meant, she thought she could handle it.
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So, basically a What if the CIA sent junior agents to make sure applicants were elegible? I know it's short, but I didn't know where to take it after this scene (trust me, it got way out of hand.) I'll try posting again before summer ends but no promises. See ya, Macaronis.
