What Not to Do With your Stories + Other Randomness

Killing Me Softly

Earlier this year, my history teacher made us write short stories that revolved around the idea of World War I and the Cold War. While we were allowed to be as creative as wanted to be, we had to incorporate at least 15 facts into the story and be as historically accurate as possible... and this is what I came up with. Constructive criticism is appreciated :) 

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Lynette Henderson kept her eyes cast downwards as the pastor droned on and on about her husband's honorable qualities.The sun shone brightly over the vivid autumn colors, doing nothing to lighten the somber mood among the funeral goers. Lynette brushed a speck of dust off her black velvet dress, if only to keep herself from crying. She took in a shaky breath and tried to focus on something other than the group of people who had arrived to offer their condolences. "He was such an amazing man, I'm so sorry for your loss- he was so kind, so sweet." All she wanted to do was scream that nobody had known her husband the way she had known him and then go home and cry.

The rest of the funeral passed in a blur and finally, the last person left. Lynette looked upwards as dark clouds began to roll in, the dull October weather seemed to reflect the wrenching pain in her heart. "Ma'am," a rough voice called out, waking her from her ruminations, "are you Ms. Lynette Henderson?"

She focused on the speaker, a tall, slender man who appeared to be in his early 50s. "Y-yes?"

She wrapped her arms around her thin frame as a gust of wind blew past, causing her dress to flutter around her knees. She shivered involuntarily, goosebumps rising on the back of her arms.

"I'm Mr. Philip Agee. I need you to come with me."

Her hands felt clammy as she remembered that this was exactly how the news of her dead husband had reached her just a week ago. Her husband had been killed in action overseas and nobody would answer her questions as to what exactly had happened. She knew he had been involved in the Bay of Pigs Invasion that had occurred in the past year and she had an inkling that her husband had been killed because of his involvement. America had wanted to overthrow Fidel Castro because of his demand for Communism in his country. They had ultimately failed and her husband had been one of the lucky survivors. Nevertheless, she followed the man to his car and sat inside as he started the engine. He kept his eyes on the road, shifting his gaze towards her every couple minutes.

A flash of recognition went off in her eyes, "y-you're the one who sat in on my interview that day." She sighed inwardly as she leaned against the upholstered seat. Lynette had no doubt that this had to do with the threat of nuclear warfare which had loomed dangerously above them for weeks. Truman's Doctrine back in '47 tried to stop Soviet expansion, but had instead kicked off a chain of events that led to this war. The Cold War had gone on for so long, 15 years to be exact, that she had spent the months before her husband's death learning Russian and training to help the effort. She had been told not to tell anyone what she was doing, specifically the part where she had joined the Central Intelligence Agency. "Can... I... ask you exactly what I'm needed for?"

"Early this morning, the United States National Security Advisor, McGeorge Bundy, presented photographs to President Kennedy that prove Russia is sending offensive weapons to Cuba. We need to know what is going on."

Her heart fluttered quickly in her chest. "C-can't I get a day? My husband's funeral was today... I-I need more time," she croaked.

"There's no time, Ms. Henderson. We need you right now. Khrushchev and Kennedy need to reach an agreement or else war may become a reality."

Philip stopped the engine in front of her house.

"Listen, Ms. Henderson," he gestured towards her, "we need someone to infiltrate Swinoujscie Signal Intelligence base in Germany and we feel that you are the only one who can do this." He took off his fedora and smoothed his graying hair down, "please, Ms. Henderson. I understand that you've done some surveillance yourself. I know it must have been hard to keep it a secret from your husband, but we thank you for the names you've given us." He took a deep breath, "the truth is, we need someone who has been trained for this job and that person," he pointed a finger at her, "is you."