The Beginning of My End

Life and I have made a mutual agreement recently; I continue to create, and Life will give me opportunities to share it. So here we go. Eek.

I think I want to start off with sharing a short story I won third place for in a national competition, mostly because at the moment I am unsure of what else to do.

I wrote this to share a metaphor with anyone who would read it.

Don't you love metaphors? They have the power to change your entire perspective, all within a few short sentences. They take complex ideas and philosophies and lay them out.

Fun fact of the day; the average human can talk at the speed of about 125-175 words per minute, but it has been proven we can listen to about 450 words per minute. (myhosting.com)

So my question to the world is this; if we can understand that much that quickly, why on earth are we not doing it? Think of how much we could learn in a single day by reading and listening at that pace.

Rant over for now. This story is comprised of several layers of metaphor about the corruption of people and politics. So here we go!

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The woman arrived on the property at 10 pm sharp. Security surrounding the mansion itself seemed to straighten, cameras gleaming brighter and guards trying their best to look intimidating. The limo eased itself onto the entranceway, oozing of wealth and charm. The vehicle was parked in a quest garage that could only be opened by the blond guard’s voice. The door was opened, and Valentina Tarakanov floated out.

She was dressed in a pencil skirt and white blouse, her hair wrapped in a bun that must’ve taken hours for her professionals. Huge, darkly tinted sunglasses framed her cold, stunningly perfect face.

No one noticed the coal black earrings and miniscule nose ring. No one noticed that under her French manicure, there were needles as thin as a single hair. No one noticed that even though she was coming to get an interview, she carried no bag.

Well, almost no one noticed. Ivan Blinsky, chief of security, found it odd the snow queen had no expensive purse extenuating her fortune. His smile was calculated but pleasant.

“Dobryy vecher, miss.” He greeted her good day.

She simply nodded.

“May I see your ID?”

She handed him a thinly wrapped ID that passed all tests of authenticity. He looked up at her expectant frown.

“Miss Katerina Malkiofsky, right this way please. He is very pleased to have this opportunity with you. You must be honored.” This was the only warning he could give without appearing suspicious.

“Da, but I prefer to be considered Katia if you don’t mind terribly.” The noticeable fact that she rebelled against her name was a sign that rang loud and clear to Blinsky; she had the power to defy him. His warning wasn’t a threat to her.

Her voice echoed behind him as they entered the main hallway. Marble flooring created a hollow effect on the vast space. Sparse was the décor, sparse was the furniture, yet all costly.

When they reached the staircase she paused, catching his fingers. He jerked back, startled. Her fingers were like elegant icicles, sharp and dangerous to touch.

Katia continued. “I need to attend to some matters privately. Where is your restroom?”

It took him a minute to interpret that. “Of course, right this way.”

He led her down a series of intricate hallways with towering ceilings. They came to a room large enough to be a bedroom. Ivan turned around and found her shoving him into the bathroom. He stumbled and fell to the floor. Katia closed the door shut behind her and walked forward quickly. He pulled out his weapon before realizing it wasn’t there.

Katia held up his gun.

She slowly pulled off her glasses and he tensed with shock, for Katia’s eyes were blood red. With shame he felt his courage leave him, abandon him and flow into this gorgeous girl with a sly hand and a pistol. He held up his hands, trembling.

“Please ma’am, don’t—“

“I never use guns. They are too noisy and messy to clean up after.” Instead she leaned close, so he could smell the perfume surrounding her like a heavy blanket. Then she jabbed her fingers under his chin. He gasped as two needles entered the soft flesh. As two streams of poison entered his blood. As two rivers of crimson flowed down his neck.

Within two seconds he passed out. She handed him his gun back, then stripped off her blouse and skirt. Underneath was a bullet-proof black camisole and leather shorts for easy movement. One yank and her bun collapsed, along with the rest of her wig. She removed her gloves and put the latest pair the agency had given her; they covered her finger pads but let the needles peek through.

Finally Valentina turned and faced the mirror. She tapped the nose piercing. Suddenly she could smell everything. She hated this safety measure. It was supposed to detect gas poisoning in the air, but that method was rarely used. It left her smelling things the average human wasn’t supposed to.

Then again, she had never been average.

Her earrings were already working.

Agent V here, ready for time limit and mission. Requesting limo be removed from premises, as it contains DNA. I did not put on gloves while in the vehicle.

Permission granted. Time limit- five minutes. Mission- access top floor to find files that will be necessary to assassination of Politician Andrei Tarakanov.

She cut off the connection for a minute, reeling. They were going to make her kill her brother.

Her brother, who had snuck her cookies when she was sad. Who had sang her to sleep when their mother disappeared. Andrei had been her hero.

Then he had left for college and she’d left the Ukraine for Moscow. While trying to figure out her career, she’d stumbled into a crime. Witness Protection Program didn’t exist in Russia. Instead they were sent to a training facility and became government property. She was the only person knew her real name. They only called her V in the Agency.

V hadn’t talked to Andrei for years. And now she was helping the government kill him.

The killing itself wasn’t the issue; that was the easiest part. V wasn’t used to caring about anyone. She wasn’t even sure if she did still care about him.

Yes, that must be the answer. This was simply her mind clashing with her orders. It was a common dilemma for newly implanted agents. She’d researched all possible side effects before agreeing to the procedure. V had proved to be the most capable spy without weapons, and had been concerned implants would only slow progress.

This had not left her with any arrogance, however. There was nothing in her life to be proud of. She followed orders and was extra cautious. That’s why she was considered the best. V was only the top agent because they were comparing her to others.

So there was no reason she should be hesitating now. Connecting the reception again, she added a timer in the back of her mind. V had already lost 16 seconds to thinking. That was not to be tolerated.

Gathering the clothes, she braced her freshly socked feet on the edge of the toilet and hoisted herself up, until her face was level with the tile ceiling. V pushed hard against one of the tiles and it popped upward, hitting the vent and letting out a loud clang. She grimaced as the wiring in her wrist sent a shock through her spine as a punishment for the mistake, and pushed the clothes into the empty space, then resealed the tile.

V padded over to the door and slowly eased the handle to the left, cracking it open just slightly. She had been given a few hours before hand to figure out where the cameras were in the house. There weren’t any upstairs. That was where Andrei’s personal business went down, and he obviously disliked unintelligent company such as the security. That didn’t mean he didn’t have a system up there. The Agency wasn’t able to get a mapping of anything that might get in the way, so she had had to go through some extra training.

She climbed the stairs, checking for hidden cameras and lasers. Her brother, from what she remembered, was a thoughtful, if not psychopathically observant man. He would think of everything, which is why V could not lose focus.

When she truly thought about it, knowing him made this process easier than ones in the past. This time, V had inside information that no kind of agency could collect.

The office was located in the center of the hallway, a metal door surrounded by sterile wall. V half expected there to be a wheel with four handle bars, the kind on high profile safes. She found the doorknob already opened.

All of her artificial senses went on high alert, scanning and reviewing her memory for anything significant that would help her escape easily if he was in his office, for the door should not have been opened with such vital files simply laying there. Upon opening, however, there proved to be no light garnishing the room, and from the bulbs in the hallway she could make out nothing but a simple desk that was pushed to the back of the building, where huge windows took up the whole wall. Tightly shut blinds hung like bleak shadows.

V leaped across the floor in a mere matter of seconds, which for this mission felt more like precious hours. Her night vision contacts began to work, making her blink several times before continuing.

With a tap on the wrist her index finger’s needle extended and thickened slightly, allowing her to slip it into the key hole on one of the lower cabinets. With a satisfying click the drawer slid open, revealing tidy rows and rows of cut dead trees, their blood replaced with hordes of ink.

File named Security 964.7 Level Ten clearance- ninth row in file holder, second copy.

It was easy to find it after that, but before V could grasp it a second message was violently seared into her brain, knocking her to the ground as waves of pain were electrically sent to her brain.

DO NOT READ FILES. YOU WILL BE TERMINATED UPON RECEIVAL ONTO AGENCY GROUNDS. THIS WARNING WILL NOT BE REPEATED.

V was used to pain, but this was becoming slightly annoying. Her body was reacting more than she was comfortable with. This was not the Russian way, to be so easily pushed to the ground, but pushing the message away would result in a far worse punishment than death. So her eyes were allowed to slide close as the fire spread farther and farther down her body.

10 seconds.

12 seconds.

15 seconds.

Her eyes opened as she was given back her senses to control. V had mentally been recovering while her body was still experiencing the aches, so she was able to jump gracefully to her feet the moment they allowed her to.

A few years ago, V would’ve been outraged to think she would let someone literally control her mind, but this was normal. This was right. V was not angry; there was no reason to be. Curiosity was one of the greatest forms of evil, and they were justified in keeping her sane by erasing her will. Human will was instinct, and instinct was wrong.

With her mind cleared and her body in a composed state, she retrieved the scattered papers and checked the time.

2.52 minutes left.

As she straightened and turned towards the door, her frozen heart stopped. Her own blank face stared back at her, appearing in midair and hanging there. She noticed things she hadn’t in the bathroom mirror. Eyes that were taunt with strain rested heavily on bruised, tired skin. Makeup that appeared glamorous at first glance was peeling. Black hair that hung in unhealthy strings curled at the nape of her neck.

V watched as the image’s expression morphed into one of pure horror, an emotion that up until now had only been a word to her. Now it was something that was all consuming, overloading all of the high tech hard drives in her brain and leaving the natural one to shout at her; Run. Run like you never have before.

But she didn’t.

One characteristic that had survived the intense training at the Agency was her stubbornness. She had never failed a mission, partly because she wouldn’t leave until the right man was dead and the right theft had been made.

So V remained still, forcing the scream to die in her dry throat. A trembling hand obviously not connected to her brain reached out to touch the shaky image. Fingers met with cold glass.

It was a mirror.

Memories flooded her already confused brain, moments of bedtime stories, her father crouched in front of their bunk bed, Andrei pleading for a scary tale to end the night. Most sisters would beg for mercy, but V agreed and listened carefully.

“I will tell you the superstitions our ancestors believed in, the kind that were so common they spent their lives in fear. And what you must remember throughout my tales, deti, is that this fear made them weak. It is a wonder our family tree has the long branches it does.”

He spoke of black cats and curses, falling ladders and cracks in cobblestones, but the one that stuck Andrei was the mirrors. Thousands of legends and myths were based of the mirror, the one thing that could give us a reflection of what we truly are. Superstitions involving mirrors were the most dangerous.

V involuntarily shook her head, ignoring the movement in front of her as she did so. This was idiotic and shameful. Memories led to fear of the past, and as her father had taught them, fear was weakness. The Agency didn’t tolerate weakness, and neither did V. Stepping around the mirror, she was headed towards the beam of warmth shining through the narrow doorway when she felt warm night air cut her throat like a wet knife. Whirling around, she saw the panes of clear bullet proof glass slowly edging upwards, letting an eerie glow into the room.

At that moment, V knew she was going to have to fight her way out. To most agents this would only be a creepy moment in their success story that would later be told to the other slaves of the Agency afterwards, but V knew better. She always knew better.

This meant someone was watching her, and that meant there was more snares to be awaited. Turning once more, the sight before V filled her wretched soul with undeniable dread.

Hundreds of mirrors hung from the rafters, all across the ceiling, each one a reflection of her frightened expression. Large panels, nothing too ornate, shimmering in the light from the windows. She was surrounded, and had been for a while. Why hadn’t she noticed?

That was when her face disappeared, and was replaced by Andrei Tarakanov.

He smiled his “speech smile”, all charm and grace under pressure. “Dobryy Vecher, sestra. It has definitely been too long, and unfortunately, you are a little late. You see, I am already dead.”

Instead of being surprised, she recalled a specific account her father had told of their great, great aunt Anastasyia. “My grandmother used to tell me vehemently how her aunt was trapped in the vanity mirror in the upstairs bedroom. I was terrified to go up, but my cousin forced me one day through wicked blackmail.” He would chuckle then, pausing to ruffle V’s hair annoyingly. “He was always the clever one. I simply copied him. Anyway, the thousand-year-old myth is that when someone dies you must cover their mirrors with a white cloth, or their spirit will be trapped forever. I never found out if it was true. I pushed him inside and locked the door. They didn’t find him until morning.”

The imagery faded, leaving V with a chilling sense of recognition; this was true. All of those stupid stories were true. Now the question was— how much of her life was actually a lie? The Agency wouldn’t send her on a completed mission unless…

She quickly sent message after message to them, but with no reply. All that was left of the one thing V had always trusted in was a faint buzzing sound, like the kind off of a dead radio airwave.

V’s feet shuffled, head hanging down and eyes wide.

This was worse than pain.

This was worse than fear.

This was uncertainty.

He laughed at her and spread his arms wide, so they couldn’t be seen through the square cut of the mirror. “Yes darling, you aren’t going to hear from them. Not for a while.” He chuckled again. “You see, a few short, beautiful hours ago I was in this very office. You must have noticed the half-empty cup by now.”

She hadn’t noticed it. It was a profound detail, one that could have saved her, and she hadn’t even glanced at it. Andrei seemed to read V’s thoughts.

“Oh, the shock has gotten to you. Well that is a pity. If I had known, I would have saved some of the theatrics until the real blow came.”

V’s voice gave into her silent pleas for assistance. “What do you mean? I am on a mission for Russia, and I will not fail. That is not-“

“That is not your way, I know, I know sestra. The truth though, is a little more complex than that. Think about it. I work for the very same government that has already succeeded in killing me. Why? Because I was getting too powerful, too falsely likeable for their tastes. Your flame needed to be put out because, frankly, your flame had already been blown away. You are just running on natural gas now, so to speak. In other words, you have become lifeless, and if they ordered you to explode your inner feelings, you could create a massacre without even blinking. We are striving for the same thing, but are constantly trying to kill one another. We are corrupt, and in the end, government will destroy itself. You should feel honored, Valentina Tarakanov. You are the final step in beginning the end.”

V let out a shriek that was filled with secrets the government would no longer be able to take from her. The mirrors cracked, the last superstition filling her mind; when a mirror shatters as you look at it, you will die sooner than you ever could have expected.

So the spy died knowing only one thing.

Mirrors aren’t to be trusted. They will not show you the truth. They will be the cause of the world’s downfall. All because people will eventually choose to turn around and face their greatest enemy; themselves.

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