I have a few tales to tell you, and the tales are true...

I will tell you a story about my "J", a friend I had once and she was a spectacular person to be around with. I always knew there was more to her than everyone saw and more than she led everyone think was the real her. Now, J never had an easy life, her father was always very demanding, pushing her to the limits and always making her step that one step further.

He wasn't an easy guy to be around, but he also treated J fair and loved her despite the hard interior. He taught her how to be tough and protect herself in every condition...also all those things that dads teach their sons...and usually not their daughters. Like fixing cars, basic skills of surviving in a forest and even some fishing.

J loved him dearly.

Now her mother was a completely different story, she was kind from nature and always did everything to protect her children. Even when her health always stood in the way... and still does to this day. J also has a "little" brother that she would surely sacrifice her life for if necessary. Not that Mike really needed it, a true army man, a navy seal officer.

I guess Mike might be surprised by what J could do for him, of how strong she is and what she is capable of.

I was always secretly proud to have a friend like her. Because she is not only a beautiful woman and an amazing friend... but also someone who can be very dangerous, despite her slender build and soft features. Because under those loose and girly clothes that she wears whenever she comes back from her "work", are muscles of steel and determination that could break and put to shame any man around. Not to mention J's special skills that she has developed over the years...

She's my best friend and the only person that she told about her other life that nobody in town... or maybe in the world knows about. I smile as I think of this situation, preparing breakfast for my 5-year-old daughter Kathrin and grinning at her "aunt" Jane.

She is always so sweet around her, teaching her how to make a catapult and how to start a campfire in the wilderness... while looking like a girl from the suburbs.

Floaty white dresses and converse trainers, never the one to wear heels. I finish the sandwiches and look at the hall, as a small sleepy person walks in, rubbing her eyes and dragging an old teddy bear behind her. She climbs on the tall chair and looks around,

still not quite awake.

Had a nice sleep, my darling? - I smile and try to straighten the blond haystack on her head. I had the same hair when I was her age. Like golden silk. These days I could easily go for a brunette... in the right light.

Mmmh - She mumbles and looks for her cereal bowl - Did aunt Jane call ?

Yes, and she said she will visit soon - I turn around and pour some coffee into my favorite red mug.

I miss her, she almost never comes to see me...

Oh, honey... she was just here a month ago. You know she comes whenever she can to see her favorite niece...She has a lot of work - I stumble a little on the last word as my mind shows me images of what J really does. I was okay with that by now, though not sure if the word "ok" did justice here.

After all, one doesn't usually have paid assassins as their best friends.

I stare at my baby and smile again. Now, it wasn't exactly as if J told me about her "profession", I just found out by accident. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and my friend was taking care of her current responsibilities. A gun pointed to a guy that looked like he had all Hell behind his conscience. His face crippled with anger and frustration.

You're not going to get away with this you wretched creature... - he smiles and almost spits in her face - calling you a woman would be too much a compliment to you...no, I would rather call you...

He doesn't finish, his face expression freezing in place as a bullet brakes free from the gun, the noise subsided by a silencer and J's coat. The guy falls slowly to the ground and lies there on the cold cement. A small streak of blood in his chest growing bigger with every moment and dripping down. Turning into a puddle.

I take a deep breath and stare at the horrific scene. I hear footsteps and look up as a small hand touches my shoulder. I flinch at first but then freeze again.

Jane... how did this...

Clare... try to breathe sweety. I don't want you to start your panic mode... and screaming like a crazy woman...before I can clean this all up. Now give me your hand. That's right, just like that.. and sit on that crate...yes, perfect. Remember about your breathing, while I take care of this little predicament... Alright, sweetheart? Nod if you can hear me... wonderful, I am very proud of you.

She leaves for a couple of moments and returns with some plastic sacks and the kind of foil that you use when painting walls or doing a rebuild on the house. I see some thick ropes and weird bottles. Probably detergents... I sit there as if I don't have a care in the world... as if I just didn't see my best friend kill a man... even if obviously not an angel... but a murder still. I look at what's she's doing and how swiftly and professionally she proceeds with her task. I feel numb when I look at her, probably still in shock. As I sit there, Jane finishes her work, the body wrapped around in foil, and rope for a better grip. She ties the knots tight and then straightens her position. Looking directly at me for the first time and rubs her hands against each other, as if saying "there, all done, now back to other stuff" I get off the crate and wrap my arms around me, feeling the sudden chill in the air. Jane walks up to me and puts a hand on my shoulder again, bowing her head, so we are at the same eye level.

Clare, love... how are you doing?

I don't think I know yet... cold maybe. It's a little chilly today.

Why aren't you just a treasure... - She smiles at me with a warmth that shouldn't be there, considering what she had just done.

Just happy to be alive and not that guy... - I point to the bag on the ground and now clean cement. No blood in site.

Trust me, Clare. You would never be in that position. That man did a lot of horrifying things in his life and eventually landed on the "hit list"...believe me, when I say... The world is better of without him... when I think that you lived in the same town as he did and could be next...it just makes me sick - she shivers and takes a deep breath to steady herself.

Jane... - I look up at her and touch her cheek. She looks at me with a pained expression - Is this the well-paid job that you had been talking about... the one in the real estate agency?

She stares at me like the most important person in her life and smiles again.

It is an "agency" of sorts... but I tend to be more of a freelancer type... are you scared of me yet, or are going to wait till you get home first, and start calling the cops? You can if you want to - she gives me a humble smile, then turns more serious - but that would mean I would have to leave the town very soon...and you and Kathrin... Mind giving me a couple of hours in advance, so I could pack my belongings?

She asks calmly, but I see the pain in her eyes spread like wildfire. I furrow my eyebrows as a small pain of my own spreads in my heart. I wrap my arms around her neck and whisper to her.

No, that won't be necessary. You have a niece to come back to...and her mum. So, leaving isn't really an option here. Do you understand me? - I can feel her nod, my neck getting wet from her tears... and her shoulder from mine.

Ok, enough of this foolishness...I have to clean up.

I look at her, as she reaches the body and pulls on the rope. Dragging the huge dead man as if he weighed as little as she did. Her muscles flexing and her expression that of concentration...

...

I look at my daughter and smile as she fills her bowl with milk, as it overflows it and spills on the counter. I handle her a paper roll and she swiftly pulls a couple of them and cleans the mess with precision. She has a familiar expression of concentration on her face. I guess both of us look up to a certain friend and a favorite aunt... my best friend.

A well trained and paid assassin...

Because I wanted to share a few tales that I have to tell... and the tales are true.

..................................

I am the pen that writes

as life holds on tight

I’ve never run out out of ink

even when I reach the brink

I let life take the reigns

especially in times of pain.

I am the pen that writes

pages and pages at night

thoughts into words

that no ones ever heard

mainly stanzas of sorrow

in hopes of a better tomorrow.

I am the pen that writes

spilling out hidden frights

Keeping intact my thoughts

Bundled in a thousand knots

of many worries and nightmares,

Telling someone? No. I wouldn't dare.

I am the pen that writes

Hoping for things to be alright

Barley gliding through life

Struggling to survive…