Preciosa… A short story by me

ydf1819.jpgAbout three months ago I wrote a short story as a submission for a contest. The basis of the contest was to build a story centered off of one particular line. Unfortunately, my submission did not make it into the final ten, but I did receive some good feedback on it, so I thought I would share with all of you.

There is a recurring thought that maybe I will turn this piece into a larger work somehow, but how… I have yet to decide. What do you think?

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The window was open just enough to let in the cool night air. Sara was lying next to me, sound asleep, the soft sounds of her breathing provided just enough noise to drown out the sound of my heart beating erratically in my ears. Her silky blonde hair was a stark contrast against the black silk of the pillowcase. How did we end up here again? Oh yeah, a bottle of tequila, and too many beers to count.

It wasn’t that I didn’t find her attractive, because she is, and I like her a lot, but I don’t typically step over the fence into same sex territory without reason. Last night there was no reason, except that wasn’t entirely true. I could lie to myself all I wanted, but fact-of-the-matter is, I was desperate for an escape from my own thoughts, and Sara happened across my path at just the right moment.

They knew Lincoln would double cross then when they let him in, or try to that is. Lincoln underestimated his jefe last night, and paid for it with his life. Right about now, some backwoods Texas Sherriff is delivering the news to a hysterical Veronica, that her beloved husband was the unfortunate, and accidental victim of a gang style execution. Even though it had nothing to do with a gang, and it wasn’t an unfortunate accident of “wrong time wrong place”, but instead it was either him or the jefe, and we both knew the jefe wasn’t going down.

Just as the thought left my mind, Sara rolled over exposing her bare shoulder; she has the softest skin. Always warm to the touch and smooth like the petals of a rose. It was now or never I suppose.

Slowly sliding out of the bed, I quickly found my clothes, exactly where I left them; neatly piled all in one spot on top of my shoes. Trick of the trade, you could say. After one last glance over my shoulder, I opened the bedroom door, closing it softly behind me before I crept out into the living room where I pulled my skinny jeans on followed by my sweater and Chuck Taylors. Thankfully she was to busy pulling my clothes off when we got back here, that she forgot to set her home alarm.

Quietly closing her door, I made my way out of her apartment building; pulling my hair into a bun at the same time I heard a door upstairs shut. It was her neighbor, coming down the stairs in running clothes. He is more my type except he’s married with two small kids, and one on the way. How he finds the energy to go running at this ungodly hour is beyond me.

Reminding myself that I have shit to do, I stop ogling the married guy while he stretches, and climb into the front seat of my Audi, the black leather seats cool from the nights temperature dip. Sparing a last regretful thought about Sara waking up alone, I push the button to start the car, and the engine comes to life with a soft misleading hum belying the twin turbo V-8 engine that is nestled snuggly under the matte grey hood. This beast drives like a dream, smooth on the straightaway, and tight around the corners. She’s built for more than the occasional jaunt around El Paso’s streets.

It doesn’t take me long to get from the east side of town over to the west where nothing but trees line the streets, and gates close off every other driveway. Turning left into my driveway, I wait for the garage door to open fully before pulling in. It’s only a matter of seconds before it starts to close again, automatically engaging the secondary locking mechanism, and trip sensors. Before I get out of the car, I pull up the home security monitors on my phones app, and check for any internal/external activity while I was gone. Clear. Next I check a separate system that was installed for the sub garage. Also clear. Perfect. At this very moment I would love to be heading in for a hot shower, and some breakfast, but instead, I get out of the car and head over to a hidden floor panel disguised as a drainage grate, in the center of the empty bay. Standing over it and looking down, you wouldn’t know that it is the locking mechanism to open a hidden door, which leads to an underground garage instead of the city sewer system.

Squatting down, I place my hand between the grates as if I’m going to pull it up except the metal of the grate is designed to read my handprint. Once it has a positive read, I hear the soft click before I twist the grate to the right, and push down allowing a hidden doorway in the tool covered wall behind me, to pull back and slide to the side, exposing a dimly lit set of stairs.

Descending the first few steps, I stop to place my flattened palm against an inconspicuous brick on the wall, which closes the door behind me, a red light illuminating on it to tell me it’s now locked and armed. There was a time when I thought all of this was overkill, until someone tried to kill me. Now it’s all just a part of the game. Just a part of the life I live. Never in a million years did I think I would become the person I am today. When I was a little girl growing up in SoCal, I had dreams, just like every other little girl. I wanted to be a doctor, and then it was a lawyer, but I always said that I wanted to be a princess to. And I was, I was my daddy’s little princess, spoiled beyond belief. As I got older I used to think he spoiled me so much because he felt guilty that I didn’t have a mother; she died when I was a baby. It wasn’t until I was fifteen that I found out the truth.

Pulling myself out of my memories, I got back to the task at hand; burning the clothes I was wearing less than twenty-four hours ago. It was a shame to; I loved this little white top. Maybe I should invest in a secondary wardrobe. Clothes that I could wear for “work” purposes, and not feel sad at having to burn when things got a little harry. Who has an incinerator in their house anyways? Oh yeah… that would be me, the Sicario.

 

A few days later I’m eating a bowl of lucky charms when a news story comes on the television that sits across the room from me, it’s one of those new high tech, sleek, invisible ones that looks like the wall when your not using it. It’s hung above the fireplace that rarely gets used. The news anchor, some bubbly blonde with too much red lipstick on, is saying that the investigation for the shooting of a local, and known drug trafficker is still under way, with no prospective leads, although they are speculating it could be linked to local gang activity given the manner of his death. Interesting that it’s taking so long to close the case, normally any one of the gangs or rival dealers in town would be eager to take credit for something like this. Not only would it mean the opportunity for a hostile take over of his supply and network, but it also means they get to put one of their own in USP to control activity on the inside.

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Thank for reading… As always,

Until next time…

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