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Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Crime/Gangster · #1157628
The first part of a projected long story
Alice stood in the flickering light of the single bulb as she watched the cell door slam shut and with it, her dreams of assassinating the king. Never in her life had she been caught, and standing there in her ragged dress and dirty hair, was wondering what drove Whitey to turn her in. She had killed his family, of course, but she had thought that forgiven. Whitey was understanding. His parents had fucked Alice over, and by contract, she had to kill them.

Was it money?

She hated money and every connotation that went with it. It drove men mad and felled kingdom after kingdom. Somewhere along the line it had to end...and now was not that time. She didn't hate Whitey at the moment. SHe just had an extreme dislike for him. There wasn't enough reason to kill him...yet. Not that he had a good enough reason to stay alive, anyways. She smiled to herself as the burly guard turned the key in the lock, swore at her, and walked away. Life was complicated, and she knew that. And it was her job to uncomplicate things. Yet here she was in the middle of one giant fucksmudge of a complication, and now there was no way out.

So it seemed.

Alice was resourceful. Had been since the first day on the job. She laughed. Now THAT was a fucked up situation. By the end of that day....she shuddered. Some memories should not be brought back to the surface. Though they DO make for juicy conversation around the water cooler...if she worked at a place with a water cooler.

As the light flickered and eventually went out, she thought back to the beginning, because it was a place where she found comfort. A place of fun and frolic and mystery...and death.

She closed her eyes.
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