Dear heart, why her?

Chapter 1.

       

Mr. Bradshaw removed his reading glasses and placed them on his desk, massaging his forehead, "Are you sure?"

The thin little man sitting across from him, nodded his head vigorously. "The algorithms were traced back to the Russian government."

Mr. Bradshaw leaned back in his chair and let out a loud sigh, "Do you have any idea why they are doing this?"

The little man fixed the enlarged glasses on his face and shook his head.

"I need those nukes on lockdown, 24/7. Do you understand me, Nelson?"

The man, addressed as Nelson, stood up a little too quickly and gave a quick but awkward little bow.

Mr. Bradshaw cracked his knuckles, looking defeated. Just two hours prior to this exchange, the CIA had found traces of nuclear bombs in the discreet corners of Manhattan. After rigorous investigation, they had found them. This was quite the scare for the whole department as it was an almost fulfilled bombing attempt, which appeared to target only small areas but it seemed as if they were just experiments and the real thing was coming. It had properly terrified Mr. Bradshaw too but he would never admit it.

Because he knew what this means.

He reached across his desk to the black landline and picked it up, dialing in a set of numbers. After exactly 4 rings he cut the phone. 5 minutes later, it rang again.

"Yes?" A heavily accented Spanish voice said.

"Turner?" Mr. Bradshaw inquired into the phone.

"This is he."

"I need it. I need the nuke. I want you to start preparation now."

"But it was stopped."'

"Turner" he breathed into the phone, "Get to work."

"My payment?"

"Will be received. Thank you."

Mr. Bradshaw ended the call and wiped the sweat off his forehead.

If Russia had decided to spark the first piece of wood for the bonfire which is the war, then America will light the second.

--

       

Rachel says she thinks I'm going into depression again. I just halted in the middle of the hallway on which we were walking and gave her this 'are you kidding me look?'. I didn't expect any more from her though, every time I stop talking and become myself for a while she suddenly claims she doesn't know me anymore. It really makes you think on the whole foundation of our friendship. She only likes 'Cheery Alex' and not 'real alex'. She thinks 'real alex' is just 'cheery alex' in depression.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" I said, sighing.

Rachel bit her lip and put a comforting arm around me, "You're not you, Alex. This morning, when I tackled you with my infamous hugs, you just stood there. Like a statue."

I almost wanted to take her stupid arm and throw it at her face. Also she was way too close to me, I could smell the overpowering scent of vanilla. I never understood why girls liked to smell like freaking cupcakes. Then again, Rachel looked just like one. With her poofy mousy brown hair and excessive use of makeup. A well frosted cupcake.

"I'm sorry. I just had a nightmare."

Sometimes I feel like I should just tell her the truth. And the rest of my 'friends'. But I've known them since kindergarten, and I may have just loved the shit out of them once. Now I just barely tolerate them. After my little encounter with death, the world just seems to make more sense now. Suddenly, I knew that happiness wasn't the only feeling that existed.