Fly me to the USA

I never took a plane before that.

In first class, the window sit, I looked the clouds with fears. It’s probably selfish after all the evil I did, but at this moment, when the plane was flying in the rainy sky, I though that I didn’t want to die, not here, not now…not before knowing why I was so important for this few americans who don’t give a damn of my personality, and why I had to be saved to my guilt.

« Tu es déjà allée aux USA ? » asked me the black men in black on my right. My tongue couldn’t work anymore, I felt so numb, so empty…i wanted to cry so hard !

The plane stop in the Big Apple first. For me, the driver just cut everything and the plane just bump in the runway ! My hands contracted into the armrest, my fingers scrachted it to death…The agent by my side just put his hand in my glove : « It just landed…C’est l’attérissage !! ». I tried to smile, but I had no more shine in my heart to do it.

In the airport terminal, in Kennedy, we waited and waited again for the second plane. It took only forty minutes but for me, it seemed a eternity. I just stared at the other passengers…where was this couple, holding each other, laughing and giggling… « Où sont les toillettes ? ». My supervisor look at me, searching briefly the meaning of my words and when the translation was done, he just showed me the way.

Like today, I looked at the mirror and I didn’t reconize the girl I used to be. Always a smile in the corner of the lips, always a little sparkle in the eyes. I tried to open the faucet but I forgot about my longs dark gloves. I moved my hood more in my hair and I sighed. After all, it was not so bad, and I used to dream about going to the united states !

« Are you ready ? Tu es prête ? ». I nodded. I think they never know, never did I, if i twas a yes or a no. But i followed them into the second plane, patiently, silently…still no tears in my hazel eyes.

Washington was to close to New York to have a movie this time…I just kept my eyes open until it’s hurt. In my only year on high school, my drama teacher learnt me how to cry without sadness…just don’t close your eyelids for a long time and the eyes came so dry that they start tearing for being humid. In the plane, it was not for fun, no, because I didn’t want to see my brother face again and again in my head.

My men in black, still on my right, give me a poke : « See ! The Pentagone ! ». I didn’t dare to tell him that I never heard about it, I was nearly seventeen but for me the only interesting thing in the USA was the soaps…and manner of fact, Hollywood.

I followed the direction of his finger and I saw it…I was in Washington D.C, the capital of the United States, the only place in America out of states, with a fictive identity. I put my hand on the window and I tought : « Hey Billy, I did it ! Look at me brother… » and my heart broke a other thousand part. He could never join me in this trip, even if he was suppose to be in my soul with me…I knew I have no right to keep him inside while I killed him by loving.

When my guides got back their guns, my look started to asked them to shoot me at this second. But I didn’t say a word, I let them took my stuffs and I got to the car for the ride. I finaly felt asleep after more than eight hours of flights.

Childhood

I don’t really remember when I was born, of course, but I know I wasn’t like that. My parents used to kiss me, hugs me abd let me do the same with the alive things without had to worry. I grew up like an ordinary farmer daughter in the middle of the french Alps. My parents weren’t proud of me because I never did something that they can be proud of but I was the only one of my friends (village companions) not adicted to booze ans some kind of cigaretts not really legal, at sixteen years old.

But one day, I don’t know how, I don’t know why, and…damn mom I killed the cow !! Kidding…I was afraid of cows so I let them be. It was the cat…I caressed the cat and oopsi no more pussy cat. At first, they thought i twas a problem with the cat, a cat illness…but then I kissed my brother good bye…everybody started thinking that maybe, maybe, the problem was me. Anything alive who touched me was going to be…no more alive ! A metabolic disfonction. Nothing could change it or so…

Sitting on a rocking chair, looking for the sun set, sad to be a murder (of course that i loved my brother !! Before this story, I kissed only people that I loved, now I kissed people that I don’t care) and a pariah when two men in black, I believe I was singing Mr Brightside, who asked my parents to speak with me. « Ta maman nous a laissé entrer » one of them told me with an horrible yankee accent. « Grand bien vous fasse ! I answered in return.

-         Excuse moi ?

-         J’en ai rien à foutre ! ». Well…after a while, they finally realised that their french was not so good but they kept asking me to join them for come back to Washington D.C, and find a antidote, a medication against my sickness.

Mom was pregnant, Dad couldn’t look at me, so…yes, I said yes.

Full of hope…the hope to die in an aerial crash.

The beginin'

As far as I remember, blood always had this color…this red wich turn into black. An awful black, the black of the creepy death…the black of the pain…the black of…black of blood. Mine is dry on my cheek. Like if the scar is not enough…I need to bleed !

And I’m here in front of this stupid dirty motel mirror, saying to myself : « Putain de merde, je suis trop conne ! ». Oh, yeah, I forgot : I’m french too !! A twenty two years old french murder girl with an open knife scar in the face.

People here think that french speaking and person are absolutly wonderful, class, sophisticate…I guess they never heard me speaks !

You know, i’m not so clumsy usually...I used to be the best killing machine of the organisation.

I’m a disease, it’s in my blue cold blood to kill…for live…

No, in fact, I kill for free…not exactly for free…for something like thirty thousand dollars the murder but my job is simple…a target, a touch, a dead and…jackpot !!! Money !!

Money makes the world go round, the world go round, the world go round…

 

At this point, I need some time to heal my pride and so I’ll search in my memorie for knowing how can I finish here…I have so many questions to answer…

Let’s get started, if you please...but I must tell you that how could I arrive here, in this motel in the middle of the united states with a bleeding hand and cheek, walking on my lazzy feet will be my last answer !!