Better be worst!

 

 

Of course, all the good things come to a end…

 

Maine came into my room in the Virginia State Springfield house we rented like normal person. He just told me calmly that we had to go to the agency (It was only few thousands miles away from our when we are not working home) for some test. I heard that they maybe found a antitode to my disease or, at worst, a way to slow it down.

For slow it down, it slow it down !!

But it certainly not worth the needdle !

 

I arrived in the agency’s lab and one of the scientist, doctor, i-dont-know-what-and-i-dont-want-to-know, ordered me to sit down on the chair and give him my arm. He pissed me off so hard that for one moment I thougtht to give him my middle finger instead. But I thought to my family, the one I did’nt see for almost one year, maybe two (at this moment I realised that I loose sense of time). What if…and I know with ‘if’ we can mettre Paris en bouteille…what if they finally cure my disease, my curse, and I could came back home to say, once again to my mom and dad that I was sorry and I’ll never touch my new brother, never ever, even if to kiss him or hug him ?! Hein ?

So, indeed, I straight my arm, take off my glove and wished secretly that the bastard over there touch my skin by accident before putting the needle inside my vein.

I must seems a very very bad person to you, with very very bad behavior, but…they made me ! And mother nature helped them ! I was a poison and I had this power in me, everywhere in me…the power to choose who’s gonna die and who’s not. I couldn’t love without hurting so why not started hating everyone in the world…its seemed for me easier.

 

When the liquid came into my blood, run into my body like a sweet sweet alcohol, I felt like a second living. A pearl of blood showed us it nose like to say ‘hello’ and another scientist smashed it in a tissue to analysed it. I looked at him like a little piece of shit. I knew my blood was infested, that if anybody else than me touch it he’ll be dead in the instant, but still…still it was just a little drop, a little tear of red pure deseperate. An dit was my blood ! I wanted a bandage with hello kitty, or the care bear like the kids, not a free experience without had to go to the blood donnor !

The first sientist showed me a cage with his fat finger : « Cary wathever is inside ! 

• Oui chef ! » I answered. I stud up and came closer. Two beautiful bullets of silver looked at me, moving it small small nose…a rat ! « Open the rat and cary it ! ». I turned to the scientist, and the other ten or twenty person who surender me : « Are you insane ? I could kill him !

• What the hell is wrong with you, frenchie ?! let escape the bald boss behind everyone. You killed hundred of people for us and you refuse to touch a rat ! A vil, dirty…

• Take it easy, will you ! I stopped him. First : the hell is certainly with me from the begining, right…secondly : the wrong with me is you !...and third : a rat is a noble animal, very interesting and its not because he can’t speak that his dumber than you ! I have more consideration for him that I have for you !

• You need to touch him to be sure that the antidote work, honey ! wispered Maine, coming next to me, putting his hand on my sweater.

• But why I can’t touch one of this helpless and useless parasites ?!

• Because it’ll be a federal crime !

• But murderer animal is not a crime as much as killing innocent, let me laugh, human ?

• Not a labolatory pet, sweat heart ! You know, you have two choice : we can go and you came live with the doubt until you accendtly touch somebody again, or you can sacrifice the poor rat here, not for science, not for them, not even for me, but to know ! And you want to know, don’t you ?

• I do. ». I opened the cage, apologize to the rat and took him between my fingers. He looked at me, tried to bite me but after few seconds, he was still alive. I turned to Maine, ready to run into his arms for my victory when I felt that the litlle heart in my hand stopped to beat. Ratatouille was not dead yet, but he looked in a great pain. His breathing was harder and harder, I couldn’t believe it. It was worst than before !! Because from now, now…my touch was not only deadful but painful too.

I took a quick look at the dead animal in the palm of my hand like if it was a broken porcelain dol land I trew it in the observation group in my back : « Abrutie ! Vous faites tout de travers ma parole !! ». I put my gloves on, chased the cries in my eyes and walked thru the room. All the scientist moved apart like the red sea with Moise.

I heard someone asking Maine the translation, but he only said : « Find a better trick next time, gentlemen ! » and he ran after me.

He put carefuly his hand on my back. He was up to speak when I let it explosed, this bomb inside my bloody brain : « Ne me touche pas ! Never again ! I don’t want you to touch me, I didn’t want to kill you and now, from now…putain de merde ! I don’t want you to suffer ! I didn’t want to…je ne voulais pas faire souffrir !

• Breath honey…its not the first human mistake you know…take a break ! Ok…On va où tu veux !

• Why don’t we go to heaven you and me ? Main dans la main au milieu des anges ? Hum ?! ». And I just asked him to leave me alone for few minutes because I knew he could not leave me alone too long…I was a too much interesting inverstement.

Maine.

I started a marathon of deads in four years.

With Maine, we crossed all the United States just to kill a bunch of people. He never told me why the agency wanted me to touch this people and not another, and I never asked.

 

 

 

 

 

Once in Las Vegas, he just help me to fit into a Lido style dancer costum, without the topless and tong type, he pushed me on stage after colored my hair in a kind of pink and he just said : « Two steps on the right, three on the left, you turn, you touch the lady in front of you and you come back in pas chassé…you get it ? Tu as compris ?! ». I nodded, and I proved by doing it.

Maine was my dark absolut master. If he told me jump out of this bridge, now !, I would done it ! Just like that !

 

 

We became a old couple, Bonnie and Clyde without the sexualty. I was the shooter, he was the driver. I was very close to him but in some opposite way, far enough to not cross the line a seconde time.

With him, my crimes had taste of  challenge. Because his glances always asked me if I was going to put off, with cynicism ! Bloody bastard !!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

« I don’t think I can do it here, now…everybody look at us !! » I told him once when we were walking thru in Time Square, in the middle of a crowd. « Nobody look at us, nobody cares in New York ! Calm down, feather !! he answered me in a agressive whisper.

-         Don’t call me feather !! I have a name !

-         When you are working, you have no name…Feather !

-         Va te faire foutre!

-         Not today honey ! » and then, he slap my butt with his big black fat male hand. I turned and look at him, with rage. « I have no gloves…don’t push me !

-         Or what ? Tu vas me tuer ?!

-         I could, dear…avec juste un doigt ! » and I pointed my middle red nail finger to his attention. I looked around. Nobody noticed it. A white girl figthing verbaly with a black man…If none of us scream, nobody should care, not in New York, not in Los Angeles either…not of people business. Finally, I decided to take care of mine. Maine undestood that, he felt the moment when I was ready to work at least.

When you got a job to do, you got to do it well…

« Leave and let die ! » he yelled a little when I started moving over. Surprised ! Like he read my thoughts. But I was in the mood for the last sentence before the acomplishement of my destiny. « I promise, I’ll let you die, crétin !

-         I have you word ! ». I smiled, he smiled. A insane father, with his sociopath daughter playing base ball in the middle of the dream come true country. It gave me strongness to bite the big Apple, again. I walked straight, high head, moved my ass like a nympho (thanks to Nelly Furtado) and brushed the uncover hand of my target. Smoothly, gently, deadly. I was far in front, Maine was far in back, when the beautiful young man, that I touched, fell down in the middle of the street of the indifferent empire state capital.

I stopped by a hot dog peddler, the only good street hot dog in the United State, asked innocently for a pretzel, no cigarett in public during the day because I was still too young for that and I stared at the ambulance lights with a pity face. My target had the skin so sweet, it was torture to still feel him on my arsh dry hand. Maine joined me and told the peddler that the check was on him. Liar !!

I’ll pay the check for that one day…not so far from now, I know !

 

 

But at this moment, in the shopping city, I was just glad to have somebody holding my shoulder, someone who let me put my head on his chest (I learned accidentaly that my hair was not infected, a kind of strange miracle) and walked like I have someone I can use when I want, at least, feel more human. He was still nice and patient with me even after I killed another non consentante person. He played with my bad temper for my pleasure. He called me his contagious princess.

 

 

 

 

 

I learned to love him without desire him, without wanted to touch him…I never ever, not a second, wished to touch his sugar chocolate paternel skin. He impressed me to much to even think about falling in love with my mentor, and I was too dangerous for him to forget himself in mine.

I'm just a kill machine and I don't work for nobody but...everybody!!

My first contract was the more easy and stupid one. Maine introduce me to my victim, I shook his hand and bam…nobody’s home !!

The power in my hand hit me but never hurt me anymore.

Say hello to the girl that I am !!

 

 

I remember most of my crimes like a game I played.

One day, I came into a little town in the middle of the Utah american state. Alone. I knew that my target was a pedophile never catch by police, not enough evidences, and I counted in my sixteen years old appearance, even if I was eigtheen, to entice him. A flowerfull dress, my hair in a blond wig (hey ! I was a secret murder agent so I could acting like Jane Bond !) and a lolly pop in my mouth…It was eleven o’clock. I walked to him with tears on my eyes (I already teached you how to do it), Maine was in the car, waiting. I took time to get wet under the rain first, I really wanted to be good actress, to have pleasure in cold hand murder.

« Lost ». I told him with my worst accent. I saw shiny sparkles in his pervers eyes. Getcha !

He by-passed his counter and approched me, paternaly. « You’re frozen little thing ! he said. Follow me I have some towels in the defer room ! » and he put gently his arm around my shoulders, touching it delicatly. One second, two second…he fell down, straight…dead !!

I looked at him, smiling : « Sucker !! ». Then I went to the counter, opened it, took two paquet of cigarettes and ran outside. Get into the car, the lights was still on, burnt a stick of death and told Maine calmly : « Done. Start the car !

-         Did you kill him ?

-         Yep.

-         Don’t you know what cigarette will kill you ?! ». I didn’t answer, kept looking the passenger window. « Plume, do you here me ? M’entends tu ? Eteins cette cigarette !

-         No, Maine, no. Je tue, je fume, je bois. I kill, I smoke…

-         I get it…but I don’t want you to smoke ! Tu es toujours mineur ici !

-         T’as de la chance que je sois pas bourrée !!

-         Bourrée ?

-         Drunk ! You’re lucky I’m not drunk !! Give me a break, I just killed a man !!

-         A bad man !

-         Still a man…j’ai tué un homme…

-         Tu t’y feras ! You’ll get use to it !

-         I know, je sais…c’est bien le problème…

-         What ?

-         I already don’t care about killing !

-         I’m sorry for you !

-         Come on ! C’est des conneries !

-         Conneries ?

-         Maine ! Do you really understand french ? Do you ?!

-         We don’t learn familiar language ! Only, the best…jeune demoiselle !

-         Bullshits ! Conneries !!

-         Why ? Pourquoi ?

-         PAR-CE-QUE…because, the agency wants me to kill, sans remords ! Now, I know why they wanted to help me…Ils voulaient pas m’aider les salops…and don’t ask me the meaning of salop !

-         I know this one, thanks…They really try to find a antidote !!

-         I know…but still…still I’m just a experience…juste une putain d’experience…

-         Come on, sweetie…

-         How could you be so kind and work for them ? Je comprends pas !

-         How could you be so pretty and so dangerous ? Life is like it is ! C’est comme ça !

-         Can we stop speak about it…please…

-         Why don’t you sleep a little bit ?!

-         Yep, a murder, a cigarette, and a nap…my life suck !

-         Think about something else…like poney !

-         Maine, j’ai pas dix ans merde ! I’m not a kid !

-         Until you’re twenty one, you’re my kid !! Je vais prendre soin de toi, ok ?

-         Got no choice ! Anyway…good night…

-         Don’t let the bugs…

-         Oh, shut up mommy ! ». I opened my window and throw up the cigarette…in fact, I never like it but it was nervous. After a bad thing, I needed another, less worst, just to feel the smoke in my body…just feeling bruning inside and outside…just to get close to hell…step by step…

I’m coming Satan, keep me a sit on you left side !!

Get a job!

Between accident and murder there are only one step. I wasn’t so far to take it.

The bald boss in black asked me to come in his office. I really thought at first that he wanted me to leave the united states because of the John story and the fact that in so many months, they never find a antidote. But it was the oposite. He wanted me to stay in the country and more, he wanted me to work for them.

Maine, my black men in black came into the room. The bald boss told me : « He’ll be you tutor ! ». I started to laugh, nervous breakdown no dobt. Can you imagine that ? A little very white skin girl pretending that her father is this black fridge ?! The only frige in the agency who speak more or less french (less than more but anyway, still no choice). And I seamed to have a good feeling with him…I had a too good feeling with John, and his dead !! Are they nuts !! If they asked me my opinion, it’s better than the person who have to stay with me for, at least, two or three years, his somebody that I really never want to touch, to hug…a repulsive person ! Not the sweet Maine, the one who take my hand in the plane…with chirurgical gloves, but still…

So, Maine came into the room, to be sure I understand eveything that the other idiot will tell me. « I want you to kill for me ! ». Not need to translate that, even if I answered : « I beg you pardon ?! ». He explain to me that if I still want them to find a antitode to my disease, I’ll had to work for them, because for now, they didn’t need my DNA anymore, so It was kind of sensless to keep my in the observatory clinic. Maybe I could help them a little and they’ll help me a little. If I wanted to live, he kept saying, I have to kill. I jumped on the desk, slid on it and grasped the shirt of my bald man. Taking my lips close to him, to effrayed him. « You want me to kill for you ?! Pauvre con ! I’m not a puppet ! But maybe you want me to start with you ! ». Maine called the security, all the men arrived with guns in the office.

« Come on, Marie… » said a little less calmly my boss…Marie ?! Yes, it’s stupid to admit that he was the kind of ignorante who think that every french girls name was Marie, like the holly virgin. Too much vision of  the last killer tomatoes…It really pissed me off…more ! « My name is not Marie, you’re dead moron !! ». I came closer…behind me, the men didn’t move, waiting for a sign, a occasion to open the fire. « Come on…I apologize if I mistjudged you…but I really thought that you want to see you family again !

-         Is it blackmail ? If you touch on single hair of…

-         I don’t care about your family ! But you ? If you want to see them again, don’t you think you need to be sane and cure first ?!

-         You and me, we know exaclty that I’ll never see them again…

-         But what if ? What if finally you can have a normal life ? Touch another John Smith without kill him ? Another brother… ?

-         J’y crois pas ! Connard ! You’re a piece of shit !

-         Yeah, but I’ll pay the check !!

-         Sursis ! Enculé ! ». I turned back, after pushed the dirty pig in his chair, and I look at all this agent with they toys. They needed me, and they knew I was more dangerous than every little guns in this country. And hopelessly for them, I knew it too ! « Yeah ! I yelled, smiling, the arms opened. Shoot the gold eggs making chick ! Go ahead ! I’ll wait for you ! ». They all put they guns down and I jumped out of the desk, look at Maine to followed me.

I started to be a bitch. Litteraly, a bitch. They detroyed the last plot of land of humanity inside of me the second they asked me to pretend to be God.

I was ready to kill ! Anybody…everybody !

Just by slamming fingers ! Dorothy wasn’t up to get back home right now !! The road was too long…but I took the first step on it.

Two fingers

John Smith…one of the first pilgrim…the most famous name in the united states...everywhere in the cover of the indecisive murder. The time we spend together was like a dream…Mr Smith and his student. No matter how bad I could be, no matter how suspicious I could be…he was nice, kind, perfect with me.

He touch my heart too fast, I loose control I think…

Months, for months he teached me the shakespeare language, but with an american subtitle. Always with a smile, everytime coming closer to me. Nervertheless, he was to know ! The agency told him that I had a incurable and contagious disease. It wasn’t pity…it was…Compréhension…understanding !! He made me believe that it wasn’t my fault. He smiled to me again and again, like a father who look at his turbulent kid and just say : « I love you for that ! ». I surprised myself smiling, laughing, forgetting…because on his face a angel drew the love of everything, the love that he give me slowly but forever. I still feel his humanity when I listen to a british english…smooth, gentle, strong, unforgetable…

One day, he was teaching me I-don’t-remember-what with this passion which used to animate him like a muppet under the pen of Jim Henson, a kermit smart and not green…and I felt loved like Miss Piggy, the porc, the dirty selfish and bad temper pig, the money box, never empty until the antidote will be find…not tomorrow the day before…I know he never tought of me like that, but I also know that I was his food on his table…if only he ate me…if only he hated me…

« Plume are you ok ? he asked me. ». I stayed silente, looking at him for some answers. I just didn’t feel well because the english was still a strange language to me. All of his words was just a big messy puzzle but not even one piece connected to another. I knew the meaning of what he said to me, every single thing, but I finised to fell numb, like if my life…spending hours and days in observation in a very hide and seek clinic…was only a movie, very scary but not so good…without haemoglobin, just ketchup. And John’s attention was the worst thing ever…He was wasting his time with me…He was to close from the disaster…to close to me…his smile didn’t belong to me, he belongs to someone pure, someone nice, not an evil demon apocaliptic like me. I tried to warn him… « I’m a lost cause, John ! Lost cause… »I repeated to him in buckle so that he can hears but he was to confident and me. « You are a beautiful young girl, Plume, you never killed anybody…of that, I’m sure. Accidents, its only accidents which put me on your road. You’re not bad, I can tell you. When I look at you, I don’t see any wrong behavior, just bad luck. You’re not a lost cause, fenchie, you’re just lost ! ». His voice ran into my ears as fast as a TGV and I could not stop admiring him. My lips followed the rhythm of his mind but the meaning was too far from me. I could not catch it !

« I don’t understand you ! I answered, desperate.

-         You will ! ». He caught my chin between two fingers to make it stop shaking. I had no time to stop him. I tried to pull him away but it was too late. Two fingers…only two fingers in my bloody damned skin. I know he had no pain…He probably even didn’t feel anything. His smile stayed on his face like he didn’t care about dying…I recalled to scream so loud…I couldn’t breath…he fell down on his knees and that was it. Non…Non…No…I can take it…thinking of that…his eyes closed themself. I still felt his fingers on my skin like he burned it. My throat scratched me. For once more, I was guilty of not be careful…I was guilty to live…My hands was shaking like my mouth…my eyes started crying for the first time of all my darn story…I never wanted to have John has my second victim but I think I was too in love with him to stop him when I thought his was up to kiss me…I even couldn’t stop him to kill me…but I killed him first !

Two fingers in my chin. Two fingers…that all it need to die for ?!

He can’t tell me anymore that I’m not a monster…’cause I am a monster.

I already killed two people I loved, -to death, right, but not to they death !-, I never wanted to love somebody again…I didn’t want to touch somebody again and let somebody touch me…but after that…after that…the organisation told me that I have potentiel…

They told me that I have potentiel in the dead body of my english teacher, my second father, my incestuous love…my last love.

Because a dead person can not love, can she ?

Meeting John...

My eyes finally opened. The two agents who came in France to get me, asked me to leave the car. The taller, the nicer, looked at me with a smile and take my arms (my sweater) : « Come on…viens !! ». This day more than any other days on my life, I learned how to always looking up. All this men, all in black it freaked me out, walking without see you, without notice you…all similar, like too many blood coupling, too many twins problem…all mesuring one meter eighty, ninety and you…the little teenage dressed with old pierced jean and a green top, to large for me...I was the task in the perfect vision of hapiness. When some of them looked at me, my bodyguards answered in an incomprehensible american english with a accent hot potatoe and I just participated in moving my hand shyly.

The agency was in the middle of nowhere. Around us only trees, foxes, sand roads. At first, I thought about asking to my new friends if we was going to meet the Olson family. But I shut up and followed the men !

After twenty minutes of labyrinth running in the corridors (did you ever try to stay beside a man who have definitivly bigger legs than yours and ignore it ?!?), we arrived in a office and my two companions let me here, in front of a old bald boss. He started speaking to me but I never understood him. I stayed here, nodded, looking around for some help, staring at the spun by slaver in his mouth. Then I realized that I looked like a gold fish, surrender by shark…but anyway, I was the stranger so I had to adapt myself.

When he finished to talk, he look at me surprise. He had a question and I never answer…how rude !! I blink and apologize : « Can you repeat please ? ». He called my translator. Few simple things was mentione : First : my parents signed a paper (for my freedom) and so the organisation gave me a tutor to live with, not yet determined…second : They’ll try to find a way to cure my ‘disease’. For the second part, they’ll need all my attention and my consentement…knowing my feeling and I’ll have to touch many laboratory pets. What could I say ? « No thank you, see ya ! » ??

I spend the night in a hotel, under great surveillance and naturally the next morning, I went to the restaurant to get my breakfast…without feeling hungry.

I sit in front of a bagel and a hot tea less and less hot. He arrived, like that, innocently. Asked me if he could take the chair next to me. I didn’t know that it was not fate.

He looked at me…he had this pretty and sweet face. Two blue eyes deep like atlantic ocean and brown hair. Maybe he was thirty, thirty five, not more.

« I’m John Smith… »he told me before giving me his hand, to shake it. I refused it, and acted like i never see it. « John Smith ? I repeated. Like in Pocahontas ?!?

-         Yep, you can call me John ! And you are, little miss ?

-         Plume.

-         Plume ? That’s it ? Just Plume ? ». From this moment, I became just Plume. No other identity, no last name…Just a french feather…a ordinary disease with a dream first name.

« Where do you come from, Plume ?

-         France.

-         Well, frenchie, I’m here to be your english teacher, but aparently, you don’t really need me !!

-         Excuse me ?! » I wasn’t sure to understand him good, he had a very pronounced british accent, a Hugh Grant who’s not a actor !!

He smiled again and then stand up… « Nice to meet you Plume, and, by the way… » He bent to whisper : « You can eat the bacon with your fingers, it’s a tradition !! ». He gave me a wink and walked away.

Seconds after, a waiter came and put his hand, gently, on my shoulder. I strated screaming, scared to death…not my death. Hopefully, I had a tee shirt but I was so afraid that I stood up, and bumped in agent behind me. Hysterically, I yelled : « DON’T TOUCH ME !! DON’T TOUCH ME !! ». The agent just stopped me with his in-gloves arm and explained nicely but coldly to the waiter : « She’s very contagious, nobody should touch her. »

Nobody should touch me…Nobody…Nobody…NO BODY…

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 !!