The Killer -Short Story

'Next on the list, Quincy Allen.'

The page is turned and shows a young woman in a business suit.

'Deeds this year'

A stern woman looks at the name and the picture.

'She supported a foundation for poor children in Africa.'

A man with a white beard turns a few pages, and so does everyone on the table.

'Well, she did a lot.'

The stern woman looks up and puts the papers down.

'OK, next on the list, Daniel Labourin.'

A shadow moves from behind a pillar, a young girl stares at the table, all the people around it know she's there, but no one seems to mind.

'Come on, I'm bored, let me do something.'

She whispers the words softly, a hand around the dagger in her belt and one touching the gun on her tigh.

'And what did this Daniel do, his paper seems rather empty.'

Another man with brown hair frowns, he turns the paper around and stares at the pure white in front of him.

'Your correct'

The man with the white beard grins.

'It's his first year as an adult and he hasn't done much good. He's a drug dealer and user and had done some rude burglaries'

'He is not worth living.'

The stern woman stands up, the girl behind the pillar grins and steps into the light.

Her skin is pale, her hair dark brown in a long braid.

'You called.'

The stern woman sits down, scared, the man with the beard smiles warmly.

'Yes we did Damia, but wait, we have two more to go.'

He picks up another piece off paper and reads the name.

'Next on our list, Levi Samuel...'

'Beautiful boy'

A young woman with blond hair smiles at the picture in front off her, everybody looks at her, but Damia looks away, almost retching, she hated love, and everything that had to do with it.

'Yes, and also a good community person, he helps his parents with everything and even finds time to help the Veterinary Surgeon on the other side of town, without being payed a dollar for it.'

Damia stands up, walks away and takes her place behind the pillar again.

'If you have something interesting, call me.'

Everybody looks at her, in trance, they keep staring at the pillar until the man with the white beard taps on the table and picks up the last piece of paper, which is blank.

'Last on the list...'

Everybody picks up the last piece off paper.

'Whitney Walters.'

A black man with a big afro looks at the paper.

'A whore?'

The white-bearded man looks up.

'Yes, since she was 13 years old.'

'Not worth living.'

Damia smiles again, and before anybody notices her, she's right beside the white-bearded man, holding out her hand.