The scarlet lips that evoke even the most elusive of targets was a desirable candidate to complete the assassination. Yes, Altair thought, this woman was perfect for the job. She had the looks, deft abilities and considerable reputation. This vermilion haired mistress was decided to begin the prophecy, she would end the reign of terror. 

The candescent oil lit lamp dully lit the poorly orientated tavern that also contained a goal in the adjacent room. Several men were gargling swears and yelling violently on the other side of the long wooden bar. She sat alone mixing the ice of her drink under the cover of a black worn out hood that did a good job, providing it be difficult for Altair to identify the lonesome drinker. Stagnantly and quietly he ambled towards her and sat down on the stool next to the scarlet mistress.

“I have a job for you” greeted Altair.

“Oh yeah? Fuck off” spat the  insouciant girl.

“It’s from Saint Michael” initiated the vexed Altair.

As if she had been suddenly awakened from a deep sleep, her heart pulsation augmented and the hairs of her skin rose.

“Michael’s dead” she said as if unaffected.

Idle lights flicker and elicit the  absent minded fireflies that illuminate the dim corner of the cold street. A nascent smoke was rising towards the light from a silhouette residing  just far enough to be hidden in the shadows yet conspicuous enough to be seen among the light. Within seconds, the smoke diminished and the joint flicked away.

The silent surreptitious movements were unheard by all but the  silhouette  moving himself. A vague tint of grey could be seen within the darkness as it stagnantly crept towards the lookouts whom were doing a terrible job as to allow the assassin to invade the based camp. In his hand, a silenced pistol to do the deed.

Fingers briskly entwined in a relaxed knot, bodies embraced upon one another, nose gingerly tipping hers, all underneath the comfort and protection of an insufficiently thin blanket that only covered half of the nude lovers that dozed in the candle lit room.

Her cheerful and fun personality was contagious, inflicting upon all those in her ambience. Her mind -insightful and broad, always thinking outside the box which was wondrous for her in school.  This girl was athletic, fast, determined and strong. She was perfect, everybody loved her. That was the problem. Although these features may be the favourite of other’s,it wasn’t mine.

This girl, to me, was best when she was comfortable. Not a care in the world of what others thought about her, no need to worry about pleasing anyone but herself. Her state of relaxed comfort, that feeling and warmth she exerts, that point when she’s happy and herself is just intoxicating. I especially love that look; when she rocks her hair tied back with her glasses, tee shirt and tights with those uggs. 

Awoken from the abrupt disturbance of the droned vibrating phone that broke the consistency of the perpetual rain, she arose vexedly confused. Half heartedly, she rubbed her lethargic eyes and opened so slightly that they were in a squint. The stagnant warm fingers that had been protected by layers of blankets withdrew from the security that they provided and picked up the flashing phone.

“Hello?” inquired the exasperated girl.

Silence answers.

Eyes flick pass the nude lips, momentarily,smoothed by her petite tongue, hands intermittently enter and exit the comfort of pants’ pockets, neurotic mind overcompensating for how to address this elegant swan in the white cocktail dress -that exhilarating feeling before talking to a pretty girl you’ve never met.

What ever that feeling was, it’s ridiculous, dispersing as soon as she spoke.