A few days later, I receive another white envelope. Written in the same sloped cursive, I move the letter closer to my face. My eyes are able to make out the writing.
Dear Ms. Leitrhal,
I'm glad you have accepted my offer. Please refer to the previous letter, which details what you must do in order to receive your million dollars. The date of the killing will be the 24th of October. I kindly request that you prepare beforehand.
Sincerely,
X.
Letting out a sigh of relief, I tear the letter into shreds. 24th of October. I repeat the date in my mind. I walk through the patched-up curtains, into the broken down slum house. Blanche sits there, playing with her doll. Picked up on the streets some years ago. Filthy in condition, but a child needs toys. Slum-dweller or noble. Once King Abner is dead, we'll get out of here. Buy a house. Pretty, like 17 Criste Avenue.
Mary enters our home, ready to tell Blanche an evening story, as I head off to my next shift. The never-ending pain enters my head again. I ignore the severe throbs and rush through the rich soil, barefoot. Shoes are expensive, and Blanche needs them more than I do.
I reach the factory, where I sit down and begin to sew. Girls clothes, with floral patterns. I continue to sew, aware that Blanche will never feel the satisfaction of dressing up, twirling around in a dress. But I have hope. If we kill the King, I can buy my girl a pretty dress. One with ribbons, just like she wants. And we'll add a third room to our house. One for Mary. Legends don't live in slums.
YOU ARE READING
To Kill A King
Short StoryI am aware of your situation. Your struggles and constant exhaustion. So I have kindly put together a request. In exchange of one million dollars... Together, we'll take pleasure in killing the king.
