Die Writing


Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on December 2, 2010

“D’you know what we go by, mates and I?”

It was cold, freezing, and tense. A group of men was having a sparse conversation in the alley. One was wearing a suit and a scarf – an outfit unsuited for the conditions. The door behind him was now locked. The light above the door was the sole source of poor illumination in the scene.

“Nah,” said the suit. “Enlighten me, then.” He looked down the alley, littered with trash and empty bottles toward the street. He could see the hood of his car, covered in a thin layer of fresh snow. It looked pristine, comforting and so very, very distant.

“The Ministry of Sharp Knives.” The words were delivered with pomp. The group, excepting the suit, chuckled. The others were wearing long black coats. Much better suited for the weather. Also, much more anonymous on the city streets.

“And why do we call ourselves that?”

“Let me guess,” said the man in the suit. He was getting impatient. The freeze was making short work of the suit and the scarf. “Something about being old school, and classy. A bit of that old time badassery, ri…”

The man in the coat pulled out a pistol and put a bullet in the suit’s forehead. The movement was fast, fluid, well-practiced, like a circus trick. Mouth gaping, the man in the suit stumbled, slid down into a useless pile.

“No,” the pistol went back inside the coat. “It’s funny.”

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