One Deadly Night

Word count: 718

My name is Amy, and these are either the last worlds I'll ever write, or the first one in a new world.

Today is the 1st of July, 1813, and I will lead the revolution to destroy the steam-filled and magically powered core of the city.

The events I'm about to recount took place on the same night 20 years ago, a night when I was reborn.

The night was clear, no wind or clouds to be seen. On the rooftops of the ever-burning city it was hard to find anything - or anyone at all. Dense clouds of steam filled the air, too hot for an untrained person to travel. Perfect spot for thieves and assassins alike. But it was nice. I remember feeling happy. My heart was pounding violently, but I was free. I have been running for so long, longing for some closure.

When I finally recomposed myself, I moved closer towards an exhaust tube, where I could reassure my self I was still in one piece. I jumped back in surprise as I saw a hooded figure, with wild untamable red hair flowing out of the robe, and red-tained glasses for protection. I didn't recognize myself. The face that I still remember staring back at me was one of a burning phoenix. But I was trained not to panic, and I thought "Heh, my hair are in a mess again".

It was only a thought to keep my mind busy. What mattered is that I finished a promise made to myself when I was 5. The guild of assassins doesn't ask for permissions, nor favors. They stripped me of my home, I learned and stripped them of their leader. I thought vengeance would give me peace. And yet that night unknown feelings sprang to life. My vision started to blur, and soon enough the glasses were filling with tears.

That was the last time I felt weak and useless in my life. I wanted to curl into a ball and disappear. I have even become effectively blind with my tears filled glasses and almost couldn't tell the difference between the hissing of steam-powered machines and my own voice. Then my training kicked in. The three steps of an assassination as they are:

Mark the target.
Observe.
Strike.

The target were my feelings, and I immediately remembered the day and the man who taught me. The Bear we called him. A mostly silent leader that carried out some legendary assassinations. He personally trained the promising novices. And he looked at me with those piercing green eyes that held me captive as he explained it all.

I realized my feelings were linked with the man I've slain. Thinking about observing, I remembered that he did plenty. As I matured and my body with me, his eyes got a different glow to them. When I looked at him, especially after an exhausting exercise, when my vest was sticking to my skin emphasizing my feminine parts, I could see something animistic and primal in those eyes. I did not realize it until that very miserable moment that I was drawn by those very same eyes. I could only see or care for his weaknesses, laying down my plan piece by piece.

And blindly following the instructions, to strike is what I did. I did it when he was standing with right hand on my shoulder, congratulating me for the successful mission. I pierced his heart with my dagger, while watching his eyes turn into horror. What he did afterwards is what changed me forever. I was prepared to die with him, knowing that with his dying breath he could have killed me. Instead, I felt his hand caressing my face, and smiling. And the last time I saw those two beautiful emeralds, they were empty of anger, only pride remained.

I understand now, 20 years later, that I've become the perfect assassin. I also realize this was a man that occupied both my heart and mind. And while his heart is gone by my doing, his mind continues to haunt me. I write this now, my love, as I carry out the revolution you dreamed of. I only wish I had you by my side and fight for a chance to live, than fight over your dead body.

Behind the keyboard

My friend Andrea told me "Quit the bullshit and start with the stories." That's what I did now, leaving a few comments after the story, for anyone interested.

Ok, so this was my first tackling with a female protagonist. Comments are very welcome.

I was busy all day (that's why the story is late), but I had time to think. And so I wrote a story about my muse Amy, that my thoughts keep coming back to. But I'm a writer, so I tried mastering my emotions and wrote how our story could have been in a different universe.