I do not own this song nor do I claim ownership. It belongs to the talented Sia Furler, not me.
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Natalie Simms never realised what she was in for when she hired Rosaline as her personal assassin. The girl was not someone she would typically expect to be a ruthless killer: she had a petite figure, a smooth cut of black hair, innocent freckles, and pearly-blue eyes that shone with the curiosity of a young child. But she was surprisingly powerful. Not just physically, but psychologically: the way her mind worked in certain situations would leave Natalie in amazement. And also in fear.
Why would she hire her? Well, because it felt like the last resort in Natalie’s opinion. It was to do with her former husband: a cruel man who had taken all her money and left her in a desperate state. She had never felt any love for him, so she decided that being rid of him in any way possible would give her relief. After all, that would mean his money would go back to her. It was a twisted plan, but calm persuasion had been tried and failed. What else was there to do?
So then there came the night of the killing. And Natalie had to admit – she enjoyed the scene very much.
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The house was dark. A man was pacing around his living room, but it was clear he could hardly see where he was walking. Why had the power gone off, he asked himself? There were no storms or damaged cables that could cause a cut, so the whole situation was abnormal.
Becoming more impatient by the minute, he fumbled for his mobile phone and dialled the number for an electrician. But little did he know, due to his blind frustration, that someone was already in the room with him.
Rosaline was there, standing like a silhouetted statue behind him. Her cunning plot to trap him in darkness had worked wonders. As he stood there fiddling, she very nearly let out a laugh at how unsuspecting her target was. He was obviously less intelligent than Natalie had made him out to be.
His eyes were in thought as he desperately listened for a ringing tone from the other line, but there was none. Rosaline had her chance now. Moving in an almost impossible silence, she approached his vulnerable back, her knife slowly rising above her head.
“Hello?” he growled angrily into the phone. “Is anyone there?”
Rosaline smirked. “Yes, there is.”
Before her victim could fully turn around or process his shock, her knife went slamming into his neck, drawing blood instantly. As the young assassin felt elation over the gasping and choking that forced their way out of the man’s mouth, she let go of the knife’s handle, letting the blade sit firmly in the skin like an arrow in a target. Slowly, but surely, he slumped onto the floor and let the last few breaths escape him.
When he eventually lay still, Rosaline stood in silence for a moment, allowing herself to expel a deep breath out of her nose. Hands on hips, she looked to the window next to her, and saw Natalie Simms standing on the outside pavement, illuminated by the amber streetlights. Despite the darkness, Rosaline could make out an awed expression on the older woman’s face.
Rosaline smiled with pride. Her work was done.
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“What are you writing there?”
Natalie jumped with a start, swivelling in her chair to face Rosaline, who was smiling inquisitively at her. The younger woman’s eyes were glancing at the paper that lay on Natalie’s desk, noticing the several sentences scribbled untidily at the top.
Natalie became flustered, shuffling around in her seat as if to relieve tension about an assassin watching her. “Nothing much,” she replied quietly, gazing at the floor. “Just… erm… a bit of poetry I’m drafting.”
Rosaline raised her eyebrows enthusiastically, suddenly stepping forward to lean her elbows on the desk, tilting her head to read the words Natalie had written. The amount of space she had now closed between the two made the brown-haired woman feel even more uncomfortable, her gaze switching between Rosaline and the paper, unsure if she should push her away or not. As if she would brave enough to do that anyway.
She chose to sit still in her chair, her fingers clasped together on her lap as she watched Rosaline’s eyes flicker back and forth on the paper. After a minute, her lips pursed with satisfaction and she slowly nodded her head with approval.
“This is good stuff,” she remarked, sending a bright look to Natalie. “Obviously it’s only early days, but this could develop into something great.”
She pointed to the paper favourably, wagging her finger as she did so, reminding Natalie of a school teacher who was praising a pupil’s work. She regarded the assassin with caution. It was hardly expected of a person like her to be cheerful and forthcoming, so Natalie tried not to make too much eye contact and kept her gaze on the floor.
After a moment of silence, she felt Rosaline’s curious eyes on her. “I know what you’re thinking.”
Natalie’s head shot up, meeting Rosaline’s stare with wide eyes. “Y-you do?”
Rosaline nodded with a grin. “You’re wondering how the hell I would know anything about poetry, right?”
Natalie paused, unsure of how to respond to the question. “Erm…y-yes. I was thinking that.”
Even lying to her felt like a death-trap.
“Well, I get that,” Rosaline replied, shrugging so elaborately that she appeared to hop a few feet off the floor. “An assassin knowing a thing or two about poetry. Who would have thought it?”
Natalie nodded uncertainly, trying to force a smile to her lips. The way Rosaline continued to stare at her sent nervous chills through her bones, and for some reason, it was even more unsettling when she talked cheerfully, as if the two were work colleagues having a chat over coffee. Natalie couldn’t help feeling that her assassin was building up to something – but she didn’t know what.
“I write some poetry myself,” Rosaline suddenly admitted. Her silver eyes glazed over in thought. “Only when I have the spare time though, which as you can understand, doesn’t happen very often.”
Natalie repressed a jolt as Rosaline’s eyes suddenly shifted to meet her own. “I write about my experiences. Everything my life entails. It’s all I can think about, so I have to get it on paper.” Natalie gripped the arms of her chair tightly as the assassin slowly leaned forward to bring her face closer. “Do you understand that, Miss Simms?”
She swallowed hard. What was she supposed to say? Was it a trick question? Trying to ignore the sweat building on her forehead, Natalie quickly blurted out a reply. “Yes, I…” She cleared her throat loudly. “Yes, I do understand.”
“Is that why you write poetry?” Rosaline asked, her tone suddenly firm and penetrating. Natalie couldn’t break the intense stare that the assassin had locked her in. “Do you like to write about your life?”
Natalie paused, her eyes shifting around the room. She suddenly felt like a defenceless prisoner being interrogated by an officer under a bright spot of lamplight. “Yeah,” she eventually answered. “Something like that.”
To her relief, Rosaline took a step back, increasing the space between them once again. “I would like to talk to you about something, Miss Simms. Do you remember the other night?”
When Natalie feigned ignorance by furrowing her eyebrows, Rosaline rolled her eyes and said, in a slightly louder voice, “When I killed your ex-husband.”
“Oh,” Natalie murmured. “Erm… what do you want to talk about that for?”
“Don’t play dumb with me,” Rosaline said, her voice suddenly brisk. “I know exactly what you thought that evening, when I saw you outside the house, looking straight into my eyes.”
Natalie opened her mouth to reply, but she stumbled on her own voice. In her heart, she knew what Rosaline meant, but admitting it would only bring sickly guilt to her stomach. “I don’t know what you mean, Rosaline.”
She expected the assassin to lash out, but instead, she smiled mysteriously. “I’m a trained assassin, Miss Simms. Fibs never get past me.” Before Natalie could reply, Rosaline continued. “You saw the scene that night – you saw every little detail of what I did. And I know why you couldn’t stop staring: you liked it. You loved the thrill and ecstasy of seeing your former lover die. And not just a normal death either. You relished in the fact that I was tearing him apart, letting blood seep out of his neck, and standing idle as he choked to death at my feet. That, Miss Simms, is the thrill of revenge. Bloody revenge.”
Natalie sat in silence, her mouth open a crack and her eyes like saucers as they took in Rosaline’s wicked grin. She was right. As much as it sickened her to think about it, Rosaline was right. She hadn’t been able to take her eyes off the scene that night, convincing herself that it was only human nature to watch something so disturbing. But it wasn’t just that. She had actually enjoyed it. But why? Revenge on her husband was sweet, of course, but loving it to the extent of a painful death? That was strange indeed.
“The silence says so much,” Rosaline stated proudly, making Natalie suddenly remember that she was in the room, watching her think. She leaned forward, as if she were addressing a child much smaller than her. “Do you know why I became an assassin, Natalie?”
Natalie froze, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly as she tried to recover her thoughts. “Um…n-no. No, I don’t.”
“For the fun of it.”
She pronounced the word with precision, a chilling tone dripping from her voice. “Many won’t understand that, but the work of an assassin is, in my eyes, a delight. The fact is that we all have killer instincts inside us. It may be deep down in some, but it’s there nonetheless.”
Natalie listened carefully, not sure if it was out of interest or terror. The sweat on her skin suggested the latter.
“The difference with me is that I uncover that desire to kill and embrace it,” Rosaline said casually, folding her arms. “That way, as strange as it sounds, I feel more human.”
“How could you feel human?” Natalie asked, surprising herself about managing to utter out so many words.
The assassin shrugged again, her black hair bobbing on her shoulders as she did so. “Ultimately, we may be human, but we’re all animals. Animals have instincts, we have instincts. I would say that I’m just living up to basic desires. Correct?”
She didn’t give Natalie a chance to answer as she slowly turned her back on her and began to walk. She didn’t appear to be going anywhere – it was only a couple of gradual steps across the office floor before she stopped, her back still turned, and gently reached into her jacket pocket.
“You have that desire in you too, Natalie,” she said quietly, slowly revealing her recognizable, gleaming knife in her left hand. “Shall we test that?”
Natalie was sitting further forward in her chair now. Her hands were still tightly clasped to the wooden arms as she eyed the sharp blade with dread. “What are you talking about?”
“You. Me.” Rosaline spun around abruptly, staring directly at Natalie with a somewhat wild look in her eyes. “Let’s kill each other. Now.”
A silence fell across the room. Natalie was dumbfounded. Had she really just heard what she thought she had heard? The entire situation was insane, but she decided to humour the assassin.
“I’m sorry?” she asked innocently.
“I know you want to, Miss Simms,” Rosaline replied coolly, holding her arms out as if to coax her in. “You enjoyed my little scene the other night. You enjoy blood and torture. It’s satisfying. I know you think so. And I’m always open for a little combat. So come on.” She tucked in the fingers of her empty hand to gesture her forwards, making Natalie’s very heart hammer with terror. Or perhaps that was excitement.
“Take me on. And free the animal in you.”
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Natalie lay heavily on the floor, panting, almost oblivious to the blood that trickled down her cheek and soaked her clothes. Rosaline walked slowly around her, like a vulture circling its prey, a smile on her face. It was not a look of triumph, nor was Natalie feeling defeat. The two of them were fulfilled, expended almost, and as strange as it seemed, Natalie felt more alive than she had ever felt, despite being so close to death.
A dagger lay in her hand, one that Rosaline had lent her for their duel. It was a powerful weapon, she had discovered, despite its small size, and she had managed to cut a few gouges into Rosaline’s skin after some effort and co-ordination. It was only the first time she had fought someone, of course, so Rosaline had given her a few pointers. And Natalie could not deny the beating of her heart and pounding of her veins that just made her want to do it all again.
It was invigorating. It was thrilling. It never felt so good to let out her animalistic desires. The pain throbbed in her bleeding head; the bones ached in both her legs. But she embraced it – and liked it.
Rosaline leaned over her, standing much like she had done when Natalie was at the desk. She was still smiling mischievously. “That was a good run,” she murmured, seemingly ignorant of the wounds that dotted her bare arms. To her own surprise, Natalie smiled back, trying to slow down her breathing at the same time. “We’ll do this again sometime,” the assassin continued, “but until then, Natalie Simms: I am at your service. You hired me as your assassin, and whatever you need me to do, I will do it.”
She leaned slightly closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Detonate me. Shoot me like a cannonball. Granulate me. Hit me like a baseball. Emancipate me.”
That must be some of her poetry, Natalie thought, in awe of the words. Rosaline paused to close her eyes and let out a breath through her nose, suddenly sending fear through Natalie’s body again.
And rightly so.
“And when it’s time for you to die… I’ll let you know.”
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Well, this turned out to be longer than I expected! Sorry it's a bit of a read, but I hope you enjoyed it, as I'm very proud of this piece of writing. :)800Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVO328Y6QVq
This is probably one of the darkest stories I've ever written, but I hope that will pay off. Hope you like it! Thoroughly enjoyed writing it and being part of the contest!
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