Waiting Game

She’s sitting on the sand, her eyes scanning the stormy sea, wind blowing through her tangled and wavy hair. Her legs are bend, knees close to her chest, arms spread loosely over them. She stares at the high waves clashing together with force, in some strange kind of almost surreal dance. The wind carries the breeze across her face, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Her mind occupied by thing much greater than the weather that surrounds her.

It’s getting colder as she sits there, on the beach, almost motionless. She’s alone there, nobody to bother her in any way and that’s the way she prefers it. Nothing to disturb her. No one to make her agitated and maybe even dangerous. She turns her face to the left, letting the wind blow straight at her. It feels good, the pure, natural force of the sea.

Of nature. She likes the intensity that comes with it, the possible consequences. The uncertainness of it all. The weather’s unpredictable and can be harmful. And so can she.

Her eyes wonder back to the sea, her feet sliding deeper into the sand. Her bare arms and legs, looking almost as white in the moonlight as her dress does. She looks down for a moment, inspecting the thin material, her outfit definitely not appropriate for the occasion. She shrugs her arms.

Not important.

She doesn’t have to look to the other side to know what’s lying there next to her. She inhales intensely, feeling the sea inside her lungs. She doesn’t have to look, but her mind sees the heavy gun in the sand anyway. Right across her neatly spread shoes.

A pair of them laying on the sand and matching its color. The boots are worn out and have seen better days. Just like her. She came here to escape, but suspects that they’ve already found her.

Someone always does. Just a matter of time.

She’s been looking around the town from the day she arrived. On alert. Trusting no one. Never forgetting who she was and what that implied. Never forget. That’s what they taught her. Imagine the most unlikely scenario, the worst option possible and be ready for it. And she was. Even now. Especially when the rumors about two strangers in the city - driving in an old black Chevrolet - started to spread. But maybe that’s who they really were, just two “out of towners” passing by, on their way to a better location. Maybe. However unlikely.

She wasn’t born yesterday not to see the signs. And in a small city like this, you couldn’t just arrive unnoticed. Especially two men, no children, no luggage. Just faces, that only shoved reproach. Yes, those kind of people stood out. Especially in a hole like this, where everybody knew everybody. She didn’t even have to see them, to know who they were and why they came here. They came for her.

However she wasn’t too worried. This wasn’t her first “witch hunt”. And she was quite certain that they didn’t know how she looked. Oh yes, she made sure of that. Able to shift her appearance as she pleased. She was gifted in that area… and maybe just one more. That was irrelevant now. Now was the time for taking care of the basic stuff. For instance, it is very important to make sure, that you leave no evidence. Nothing that they can trace you after. Just the basic.

She looks at the gun, lying on the sand, next to her boots. She smiles. That would have been a sure giveaway, no doubt. The place that she was staying in, was cleaned out of all personal belongings, leaving just the safe, day to day elements. They will come, find nothing and eventually leave. If not, she knew what to do. She was prepared for them.

Funny how they always thought they were keeping it low, “being on top of things”. Thinking that they had it covered and people would forget all about them, the moment they left the scene. Amusing indeed. The pure assurance of being professional and instead just being obvious.

Of course, there were also other types. The one’s that just didn’t care if there was any error in their skillful technique. Some were just too “above it” to actually take the time in minding the simple civilians. After all, what does it matter when you’re working for the government. If anything goes wrong, you just cover it up… or get rid of the unwanted witness. Just a shrug of shoulder and you’re good to go.

She suddenly furrows her eyebrows. Possibilities roaming around in her mind. Lazily at first, then with more speed. It’s never wise to undermine you’re opponent. Yes, that would have been foolish; even if the enemy seemed pretty much harmless. There could be others, though they usually kept it small. Forming small hunting groups. No more than two, three people at once. Playing it safe.

Just as she should.

The wind started to blow with more intensity then before and she finally noticed how cold it was. Colder then she thought. The chilly air sending goose bumps down her bare shoulders. It was time to go home. She smiled again as she slowly picked up her shoes. Lifting the gun from the sand and placing it on one of the shoes. For now. After all she was in an open space. Precautions had to be taken. There was no real danger of something happening to her. Only the fret of someone else getting hurt, when crossing her path.

Not that it was necessary. She knew how to take care of things peacefully. Calmly and in a proper manner. No victims, no fuss. Her motto. In the end she was a very peaceful creature.

A modest smile stays on her lips, as she quietly leaves the scene.

Ready for anything that will come her way.

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

I want so badly to pack my bags and leave

All I want to feel is the whiskey in my drink

I’m surrounded by animals with dreams

The whitest collar the rise of dying breeds

(...) And I got you right

where I want you anyway

Oh I got you right

where I want you anyway

“White Collar Whiskey” by Emily Wolfe