Soda-pop
Lost in a world full of creativity
“A gun will always be there for you, Anjou. Trust nothing and no one else. You were made to shoot.”
The bangs and continuous screeches from the rusty tracks echoed inside the train. It was the regular city-stench that passed through the humid air, leaving a heavy burden in her chest. She clutched onto the handrail and tried to stand still, although with the movements from the transportation made her sway left to right. Her eyes scanned the passengers, people slouched in their seats, a guy laying down with a bottle in his hands. The person standing beside her kept disrupting her thoughts after hearing the repeating beats coming from their earbuds.
The bell came on, next was the rehearsed voice talking through the static speakers. "We will arrive. To the next station. In. Five minutes."
Once the doors with the smeared windows slid open, she walked out and stepped onto the platform. Nothing but depressing gloom here, Queens. Pulling out her phone, she chose a certain contact and brought it up to her ear when she moved forward. “Liam. I need you to pick me up after I’m done. I’ll tell you the street later.” Shoving the device back in her pocket, she reached up and draped her hood over her head.
…
“I need it done today.” A man spoke sternly to his phone, busting into his room and slamming the door behind him. He paced around, listening to the blabbers and mumbles on the other line. His rough hand raised a blind for him to lean in and watch the dark outside. “No...no-that’s not gonna work!” He turned around, “Does it sound like a give a shit? I don’t care what has to be done, they need to be delivered today or else they’ll be comin’ here thinkin’ we screwed them over.” Finally he settled in his chair, inhaling the large smoke he held between his middle and index finger. “I don’t want you comin’ back here until it’s settled.” He ended the call.
A figure kicked the closet door open and extended her armed hand out. Her curled finger pulled the trigger before he could even say a word.
His corpse laid slumped against the chair as his face was getting coated by his own stream of blood. She lowered her gun and walked to the corpse, stepping on the ciggerate he dropped, twisting her shoe back and forth against the floor. The messy pixie-cut female opened a drawer from his desk and saw the packs. She took one out and found a lighter in another drawer, burning the ends of it. She rummaged again and found some cash she’d keep for herself. Standing from her crouched position, she opened the door and strolled down the hallway, checking every room and every location. Empty. There had to be more.
She spotted another closed door, heading towards it, she grasped onto the handle and pushed it open with the gun close to her face.
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