Death of the Winter Rose

A quick easy little story I had written for class.

" Rozy?" Eyes closed at the masculine Russian voice.

" Da commander?" came the feminine, cold sounding voice, of a bitter teen. 

“You’re being dispatched." No big deal, it had happened before.

“We’re sending you to America. Think of this as a vacation, only for a while."

A breath of air caught in the throat of the girl, at the name of that wretched place, but she was in no position to argue, turning sharply, clicking the heels of her black combat boots she, faced her commander and nodded with a soft grunt.

That was nearly four hours ago, now boarding a plane the hit man ducked into a seat toward the back, seating herself by the window her black camouflage bag plopped down in between her feet. It felt weird to be wearing such light clothing, and the open toed sandals sucked. Releasing a breath of air, strange colored eyes watched as the plane began to move, watching the beloved capital Moscow glide before her very eyes. Soon the wretched machine was in the sky, god how Zimoĭ hated planes, sure they were reliable, but they were a death sentence waiting to happen, so high above ground with no way out, it made Zimoĭ draw tighter then a bows string. Watching the window, starring at the blank skies, letting her mind wonder it barely registered her conscious when she drifted into a dreamless slumber.

' Thunk! '

Jolted awake, Zimoĭ nearly jumped out of her skin, as her head cracked against the safety glass window, cursing in Russian, the woman closed the left eye and gently rubbed her throbbing temple. Danm plane. Shaking off the dull throb, she turned her head to face the doom of the world outside, it was bright, sunny and busy, she could see the people, all in clear detail, could read the lips of the fast speaking folk. Her eyes narrowed, she hated it here already, the women dressed either not enough or too much, in too bright of colors or not enough, there was nearly no balance! Zimoĭ felt a headache coming on.

Stepping off the private plane, she got plenty of stares, she could read all these idiots like a book, ' Who's she?' ‘Is she famous?' flicker after flicker of thought filled expressions where shot at her from others before they boarded or descended their own plane. Her lips turned down in a scowl. Yup headache.

Moving down the stairs of the plane was harder then she thought,  her inhuman grace, the only thing that kept her from toppling over in the heels shed been put in, her hands instinctively went to her pockets. Ugh! She was in a skirt, no pockets, wonderful. Shouldering her bag she braced herself for the airport lobby. 

It was louder then she thought, the Russian wanted to bolt the second she entered the crowded, screaming loud building, her head clouded by the voices that blended together her eyes began to hurt from all the bodies that blurred around her. How was she supposed to find the person sent to fetch her and take her to a safe place the Soviets had secured with the Americans for her!? This place was like Moscow, loud, confusing and giving her a major headache, only difference was in Moscow people didn't stare at the site of a white haired woman. 

Scowling she turned in slow circles, moving quickly with the crowds toward the entrance, where she found a chair to sit on, plinking down she dropped her bag by her feet as she put her head in her hands, rubbing her temples to try and ease her headache. What was she going to do now? She didn't know anything about this place, and had no clue that she was to be waiting for. Seeking, there was so much noise, so many people. Gripping her hair tightly she hunched forward to rest her forehead against her bare knees.

" Mrs. Rose? " a timid voice was barely heard, it came from her right, a dark look in her violet purple eyes she turned her head, hands still fixed on her head, fingers still intertwined in her white, pale red stained and frost bite blue under-toned locks. Turning her attention on a blonde boy, dressed from head to toe in black she almost instantly knew why he was there.

" Da?" her voice came out in a deep growl as she assumed it would, it always came out cold.

“My names Claude, " The boy had a warmer sound to his voice, it was light but masculine, not like her commanders but still.” I'm here to pick you up, Mrs. Rose, I’ve been sent to transport you to the agency. “

Slowly rising back to her feet, she lifted her bag from the chair to her side, and shouldered it carefully, she didn't trust the American, and yet again she trusted no one, everyone always turned on you sooner or later. Guard up she nodded to him curtly, with a no nonsense aura to her the boy gulped and nodded back.

' Click, click, click, click, '

Black heels clicked against the concrete sidewalk, skirt swirling around pale skinned knees, the sound of voices where behind the woman now, but never fully leaving her conscious mind, it had taken almost twenty minutes for them to make their way from the airport and down the street to what looked like a big black SUV. Lovely, another death sentence, death on wheels anyone? She partially scoffed, partially snorted as the thought of her own little joke, earning a glance from the man named Claude, who led the way. Her lips turned down in a scowl, eyes lowered and head bowed, shoulders hunched she stalked behind him, stopping when she heard his light nearly soundless footfalls stop.

“Ladies first, " she heard the familiar click of a door opening, the sound also faintly reminded her of the click of her missing gun, her eyes closed as she took in a deep breath, calming her mind, she centered herself and pushed the man to the side with a sharp growl, then yanked the door the rest of the way open, sliding in she set her bag between her feet once more and slammed the door.

Claude stood there having stumbled slightly, stringing himself he sighed, she was gaping to be a tough one to deal with, he traveled around the car, Zimoĭ watching his ever movement though the windshield, making him uncomfortable. Claude entered the car, greeted by silence, and tension, it was going to be a long car ride.

" Mrs. Rozy, we've arrived," eyelashes fluttered as eyelids slowly split, her eyes blinking open, a glazed look in the eyes of the woman whom had fallen asleep half way through the silent trip. Sitting up very slowly she smoothed down her hair expertly, and straightened her white blouse, smoothing her checker black and white skirt and fixed the straps on her heels. Scooping up her bag, she glared out the heavily tinted windows before she shoved the door open without a single word to the man, at least not until she was flat footed on the pavement of a parking lot, turning she shaded her eyes with a single hand, nothing for miles around her, nothing but empty roads and trees, it was just her, Claude, a few other cars and the building of people. Hearing the familiar click of a closed door jolted Zimoĭ From whatever trance shed been in, turning her head sharply she peered over at Claude a deep scowl lighting her expression once more, this made the man wonder if the Russian could manage any other expression. 

" Mrs. Zimoĭ Rozy!" a voice rang out behind her, whirling around she slammed the car door and jumped sharply, twirling around in a fighting stance, a deep growl rumbling from her chest, up through her throat and out her parted lips.

“Whoa, Whoa, Whoa, " eyes focused on a sharply dressed man, with black hair sprinkled with grey, and smiling blue eyes, he was the kind of man who carried a warm friendly aura. His hands were up and he was stops not three yards from her a smile on his wrinkled face. “I didn't mean to spook you there; we Americans know how you Russians get when spooked."

She didn't say anything, Zimoĭ Was not amused as she straightened up and tightened her grip on her backpack strap, a deep loathing in her eyes for the man who seemed so cheery, how she envied his happiness, and carefree like nature, he was clearly not one that was up to date about war, he seemed like the kind of man who just signed what he was told to sign and smiled for the cameras. 

" She's a quiet one isn't she Claude?"

" Indeed sir, didn't make a sound the whole way here,"

Zimoĭ felt like an animal under observation as blue eyes examined her, she watched with caution as the blonde Claude went to stand himself next to the elderly man, she didn't know much, but on what little she could see and knew, she was going to keep her cards to her chest, she'd heard that Americans like to play games, well this Russian had the best poker face around. 

“Pardon my manners, Mrs., my names Dr. Harvey, welcome to America, this is the place you'll be staying, while here in America. “His chipper voice grated on her nonexistent patients. 

Yet not a sound left her lips, but the sound of her moving feet was clear in the silence, she watched bitterly as the smile fell from the elder man’s face, she was obviously not the talking type.

she entered the building keeping quiet, Claude quickly scampered behind her, moving with brisk strides, in an attempt to keep pace with the quickly moving Russian, who seemed to want nothing to do with anyone else, " Mrs. Rozy you have nothing-"

" My name is Zimoĭ and you will address me as such, " she growled back through clenched teeth, turning on him like a rabid animal, her eyes bright.” Got that, you filthy American!?" 

Claude gulped and nodded quickly, stopping instantly when she turned on him, his hands raised instantly, palms to her to show she was in authority. " Zimoĭ, got it. "

She gave him a hard stare, her eyes darkened slightly, turning she kept walking, Claude scrambling after her, “As I was saying, here you will be safe, so you have nothing to worry about."

Safe? What did he mean safe, why was she here, “Safe from what?" she growled darkly.

His face read it all when she glanced at him; he wasn't supposed to say, “Nothing, never mind." 

Zimoĭ turned on him in a flash, lunging forward she grabbed him by the front of his black suit twisting the white undershirt as well, turning she threw him hard into the wall, pinning him there violently, her eyes a blaze with hate a dangerous growl rumbling in her chest.

“Speak, Now before I force it out of you, “she roared violently.

“Y-you’re being hu-hunted, w-were supposed to keep you safe.” He stuttered out in fear.

So that's why she was really here, someone wanted her dead, and that didn't surprise her she had a lot of enemies all across the globe. Releasing him she glares fiercely before turning and storming away.

That had all happened nearly a week ago, by now Zimoĭ was use to the average routine, wake up, get dressed, eat something, train for a while then sit in her room, where she was most 'safe', slowly she became board, restless, irritable, finding herself more quick to snap, and her comebacks became nastier and meaner, she was like a caged animal who'd been a wild creature before. She soon found herself wondering more and more often, she was sure she'd be able to go home soon, after all there had been no sign or attempt of anything against her, or her life. She began to become a little lazy, spending less time where she was safe. Thinking all was okay, she ventured outside, bad idea. 

Taking two steps into the sun, she had just shaded her eyes from the brightness when she felt a sharp pain in her chest, startled she gasped out loud, gurgling on blood that pooled up her throat and out her mouth, what just happened. Zimoĭs hand flew to her chest, as she began to stumble backward back into the doors, with a sharp cry of pain, gaining attention for two of the security guards. Blood pooled from the middle of her chest, just to the left an inch or so, she fell flat on her back, laying there her hand clutching her chest. The guards shouted for help, and ran to her swiftly putting pressure on the wound, the Russian could see their mouths mooching, where they talking to her? She couldn't hear a thing, everything was getting dark. 

Just a few short days later, Zimoĭ was deemed dead, the funeral was all but non existing since she had been a Russian assassin and spy, so it was a quiet burial and a privet ceremony for people who'd actually carded two bits about the white haired woman, the killer was never found, and still to this day the case remains unsolved, but something tells us that the assassin will surface again someday.

Reviews

[Lavender Btooke]

This story was quite confused. If you read it aloud to yourself you will see that there are places where there seemes to be information missing. For instance I have no idea who this hitman/woman was, whether she was old or young or what she doing in America or indeed in Russia. The ending needs some work too as it left me knowing nothing about what had happened or who the MC actually was. As a reader I found this frustrating.

With some work and attention to detail it could be a good story; the writing itself is very good. The 'voice' of the MC was interesting and kept me reading too. The problem I had with the story was the information that you kept back, whether purposefully or not it did not help the story to unfold.

Read it through again and ask yourself what you want your readers to take away from this story and then ask youirself if you have achieved that.

Good luck with your writing and stick with it.

[Princess of the Stars]

The objective was never to find out who the hitman/woman was. This was actually pulled from a story I had begun for a class project.
Because it pulled out eight pages, a few nips and tucks had to be performed, but I really have re-read the piece and find nothing particularly wrong with my flash backs and forths, and neither has any of my companions. However, it is wonderful constructive points, and I will take to reading and editing if I truly see fit, I wish for people to understand.
I will however be soon putting up the original first piece, it may explain things in a better light however the original is unfinished, this is sort of an over view of a sort really.
Many thanks and blessings from the Stars.