Million Word Story
Chapter 1 Chapter2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4
Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter6
Chapter 7
Chapter
1
“Seasonal
sorrow……………………..”
I sat there alone again, with
tears streaming down my face. Cathrin was on my mind
again. It had been a long time coming I guess, and now this note. Funny how she left it hidden in the pocket of the jacket that she
had given me for my birthday last year. It was there all along for me to
find someday, maybe. When did she put it there I wondered? I was sure she knew
how much she meant to me. The thought of being without her now was too much to
bear. I read it. “William, it's over between us. I'm tired of the
rat race life you're living. Buying that stupid SUV was the last straw; I
remember when you used to ride your bike, but now you're just a fat-arsed motorist like all the other plebs. I'm going to
New Zealand to grow organic lettuce and raise chickens. Have a good life, dick”.
I turned back to my work, but couldn’t help but lapse into
thinking about the plight of the Giant Panda. Knowing that Cathrin
was in New Zealand was cause for more pain, as before long I’d have to head
over there myself to join up with my team. She never did find out what I really
do. Training for the next mission was going to be tough and the last thing I
wanted to do was run into her, especially while incognito. The
thought left me agitated and full of wind. The long binge on junk-food, alcohol
and cigarettes after what seemed like a lifetime of healthy living with Cathrin was finally taking its toll. I leaned back in
boredom, doing what only a man can do best. I tried to refocus, until a sudden
look of horror consumed my face. It couldn’t be..…..Cathrin’s
ambition to grow lettuce and raise chickens did not ring true. For one
thing, she despised lettuce to an unusual extent, often ridiculing the
over-priced yet understated leafy green meals that occupied menus. In
addition, her unpleasant reaction to eggs had instilled a profound fear of
chickens inside her. This realization fueled a momentary relapse into the
binge lifestyle I had become accustomed to…. If it wasn’t for gardening and poultry,
why did she leave? Thirty minutes and two bottles of Merlot later I forced
myself to concentrate on the training I was about to undertake. In two weeks
time my life would once again transform; my physical transformation would be
dramatic.
The
package I had received detailing my identity
for the next mission lay unopened on the table beside me. I had been meaning to
open it ever since my contact, an albino Aboriginal unbeknown to me, had
delivered it under the cover of darkness. I surveyed the shape and weight of
the package and it appeared to be the same as those I’d received before. Hints
of the wine I had just consumed resurfaced in my throat as I opened the
package. A quick scan of the contents revealed the usual: photos, documents,
contacts. Yet the wording and large font of the top page definitely stood out
as it conveyed the words “I’m Sorry”. I gulped on first sight of this page; in
my line of work, those are two words you never like to see on a mission
briefing. “A hollow gesture”
I thought to myself, that’s all it was. I’m sure there wasn’t anybody who was
really sorry. My work had progressively been getting more dangerous ever since
the new government had resumed office and began their “justified” wars on the rest
of the world. Taxes and death were not the only things guaranteed in life……I
could rely on my life being put in danger for my government in exchange for a
life full of lies and a.k.a.’s. I almost didn’t make
it out from the last operation, but I was not known as the Latin Leopard for
nothing. That mission had seen me go by the name of
Roger Chiselback into the land that had created Crowded
House and the great Russell Crowe. Yes, the country that had invented the
delicious Pavlova, Australia. My escape would not
have been possible if it had not been for my dilapidated appearance due to lack
of sleep, over-exertion and overgrown facial hair, allowing me to blend in
perfectly with the rest of the crowd at the most popular hangout in
Australia….the pub.
But that was history.
I now had to concentrate on my next objective. Upon closer inspection of the
package’s contents, it became obvious that this was a high priority mission.
Some of the photos were of the notorious Alforzio,
one of the most wanted villains in the world. I’d heard stories of his ruthless
tactics to manipulate the enemy. He was a man who feared nothing, and who’s accomplices feared him. A man who
had trained with all the big terrorist groups. Confirming the status of
this mission were the passports. There were twelve in total; in the past the
most I had received was seven. There were other photos and documents, but my
attention was drawn to the mission objectives. Looking over them it looked like
I was being ordered to build some type of time traveling device out of an iPod, Mentos, and an unopened
bottle of Diet Coke. It did not make sense to me at first, but after I spent
some time researching the chemical reaction between the Mentos
and Diet Coke I found that it would be a
great way to produce just the sort of makeshift sound-triggered propulsion device
that could get me out of a sticky situation or two. Out in the field with few
tools, it was often our ability to improvise that meant the difference between
life and death. The lesson in weaponry cryptically disguised as a request for
building a time machine, signaled to me that maybe one of my superiors knew
what lay ahead. Clearly, someone had been trying
to get a message across, and I was not one to refuse assistance. There were
only four days before my departure to New Zealand. I was dedicated to making
them memorable while I could still enjoy the freedom that my current alias
provided. Tonight I had planned on heading out to see a local band play. They
were a funky ensemble called the Mint Chicks, and they were supporting The
Faint. I loved listening to live music when I had the chance…it made me feel
like a normal member of society for the few hours the show lasted.
From across the room, the phone rang. I took a step towards it.
Another should have followed, but my apartment swerved to the right. My other
foot stomped to the floor in an attempt to
steady the world. I swore softly. I'd drunk enough to become angry; perhaps I
needed a bit more. From the tabletop, the glossed black-and-white Alforzio glared up at me. More wine to relax? In reality,
more wine to forget the mission, and more still to taper the sickening pain I
felt over Cathrin. The phone rang out again,
an appropriately effeminate two-toned pulse Cathrin
favored over the pre-set
ring.
Surprisingly
enough I found the opening was still alive with an assortment of black clad
intellectuals. Nathan had been investigating ‘retired electronics’ in the form
of enormous Atari game players, Apple Mac classics and the sort painted on
massive pieces of canvas.
His work was undeniably good. It came across as an
esoteric, existentialistic portrayal of man’s dependence on the byte; or at
least that’s what Nathan’s new found friends were bullshitting next to him as I
introduced myself. Amongst this group of art critics was a peculiar looking
fellow. A small, fragile looking man of Asian descent.
His preference for charcoal-filtered Mild Sevens led me to believe he was from
Japan. Amid the humming babble of the group he stood silently intense,
breathing smoke in large doses. I don’t know if it was their samurai past, but there
was a quiet authority I’d felt common between many of the Japanese I had met.
A chill ran up my body, was something wrong? Instinct told me the plan had
changed. The plan was elaborately dispatched- hidden in a public webspace. It was a tool used by my agency to communicate
quickly with me. I logged on, oblivious to what I was to see next.
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