Tongue rolled up an audible click, the woman’s blue eyes settled firmly on a certain page of the journal. Soaked in the warm summer light, ink of an old ball point pen reflected bits and pieces of the line she was reading. It was hard to see from her angle.
’–my daughter… - I hope…. – not like me.’
But she knew what she was eying upon. She knew it by heart. She had read this so many times more than she could remembered. It had engraved into the back of her mind.
And yet she squinted, blocking away the brightness in eyes. She only wanted to see the hand writing of the late person a little better. A little better…
“…. Sorry to have disappointed you,” a soft mutter slipped her lips. Hand reached up to the curtain, a quick pull to its string, and the blackout dropped down. The room soon returned to its usual dimmed atmosphere, with strips of lights peeked over the gaps of the curtain, laid upon the opposing white wall. Dust settling slowly down to the wooden surface as the woman closed the old leather journal, and tugged it away into the desk drawer. The place where secrets belonged.
Changing her gaze to a near by notepad, the icy look held firm grasp on a name written in black in, yet crossed out by red. ‘Theron.’ Withdrawing a deep breath as her eyes trailed to the photo next to the name, she reached for the gun. Making sure to lock the safety, the weapon was put into its holster on her side as she headed towards the entrance.
Starting the next hit.