The Mission

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

What is his mission?

Submitted: August 21, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 21, 2018



It became a morning routine: shower, eat, stare at her. She woke with the stretch of a goddess, slow arching back, arms outstretched to her wingspan, smile calling for the angels. Then, she'd sit with her phone for a few minutes and he always wondered who she spoke with if not with him--who else could she speak with? His fists would clench, the squiggily vein above his right temple would swell, and then he'd breathe: one . . . two . . . three, just as Doctor Janice taught him. 

While she showered he fantasized the curves of her body, the soft, baby smooth skin at the backs of her knees, her inner arms, her inner thighs, her neck, the pounding of her heart if he ever got his hands on her. Such a distraction, he cursed; how could he complete his mission under these circumstances. 

When she stepped from the bathroom he always pulled out his binoculars. He'd watch her dry her slender frame and rub lotion onto her legs. The towel would drop and he'd swoon over her behind and the line of her spine. Fully clothed, she sat longer on her phone and he pulled up his rifle, peering through the scope at the bit of cleavage her top shown. This time, he'd pull the trigger. 

© Copyright 2018 A.D. Ware. All rights reserved.

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