Serenity Kaye
Bio
Fellow word-wrangler and creator of plot twist, perpetrator of missed typos, and run-on sentences. Barreling forward with the attention span of a squirrel, fueled by coffee and illusions of grandeur.
Stories (4)
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The Paper War - Part 2
Comedically thick billows of cigar smoke clouded the room but I didn’t feel like laughing. Instead, my stomach twisted with anxiety. His house was like a speakeasy for rich villains in a black and white movie; all dark wood and leather. Several men congregated around a massive medieval style fireplace. Then I saw him. His immense shoulders were turned away from me as he mixed drinks but even from behind, there was no mistaking his identity. The shine of his dark slicked back hair and flawlessly cut suit were a dead give-away. Poor choice of words. I swallowed hard. There was always a chance I could still make this mission a success. My presence still seemed unnoticed. Bertorello was perched on the arm of a leather easy chair, legs crossed, waiting for a bourbon or whiskey or whatever brown liquid he was pouring. I padded noiselessly across the carpet; deeper into the smoke. I liked the smell of cigar smoke. It recalled memories of childhood; of safety, and oddly, of love. The aroma eased my tightly wound nerves but only a little. There was no way to predict what might unfold in the coming minutes and that was enough to make me snap like a stale breadstick. You couldn’t be sure of any outcome in our business. Our business? I snorted inwardly. This wasn’t my business. This was an explosive hostage situation. I was way out of my depth and to make matters worse, I could have walked away. I wasn’t a hero or a spy, not even a vigilante. I was an English teacher.
By Serenity Kaye4 years ago in Fiction
The Paper War
I wasn’t used to running, especially not for my life. The night air burned in my lungs like they’d collapse. This was not a coincidence. I stayed in the shadows to catch my breath. I reached into my bag to make sure I hadn’t lost it in the escape. Relief flooded over me as my hand found what it was looking for. Creeping to the edge of the alley I checked for any sign of the car that had been pursuing me. I’d never been chased by a car before and I definitely had never been shot at; all these new experiences. My mind wandered back to the man who’d slipped into my Budapest apartment that morning, the chaos in the square outside my window. What had I done? Or rather, what had I agreed to? The street was silent now, but the roar of engines and bullets echoed in my memory. I hope this is worth it, I thought. My sneakers moved noiselessly across the cobblestones. Staying out in the open on this deserted stretch was out of the question. The train station was close, and in a few hours, I’d be in Zagreb. Then, maybe this would be over. I was never going to help anyone again, I vowed. That was a lie and I knew it. Somehow, I always managed to be knee-deep in someone else’s mess. It was time this bleeding heart bled out. Wasn’t it? I tried to convince myself, but that was only fear talking.
By Serenity Kaye5 years ago in Criminal
