Prologue – Worthy Intentions

Prologue:

Worthy Intentions

…death toll

continues

to/rise

as…State

Defence units clash with

forces of the eco-terrorist group

Reaccion Salvaje

on the outskirts of

Mexico City…

The scroll of the closed captioning threaded in fits and jerks along the bottom of the screen, trying to keep up with the news anchor. The content of the broadcast was jarringly out-of-sync with the happy-go-lucky, all American blonde behind the desk. John placed his mug in the coffee machine, dialing in the code for a double espresso.

CIA warns that

thegroup

may be in possession of

Weapons of Mass

Destruction

and

has

been put to the top of the

list

of international terrorist groups.

Media the…group

has/released/to the-internet

as early as last year

certainly indicates their

intention…of purchasing or

stealing

whatever Nuclear materials

they could.

Now to

theweather.

Looks like it’s going to be a

-nother unseasonably hot

day-in-the

Twin Cities,

with a high of

112°…

With a final hiss, the coffee machine released the pressure built up. John gingerly took the mug, navigating the scattered chairs and tables of the break room. Returning to his cubicle, he noticed a Fed-Ex envelope waiting for him on his desk, FRAGILE written across the top in block letters.

“Hey, Suzie, you, er, you do the mail run early-like, today?”

“What’s that, John? The mail? No sir-ee, wasn’t me, no two-ways about it,” colleague called back to him. “Mail’s not usually in till, oh, 10:30, most days. Sometimes not even 10:45, don’tcha know?”

“Hmm, sure is early, today, then…”

John sat down, envelope in one hand, placing the mug on the desk with the other. Noticing the framed photo behind the cup, he was struck by sudden realisation that this weekend Jenny’s mother would be coming in from Florida – though why she’d come now, in this heat, was mystery to John. Guess he’d have to reschedule that fishing trip…and, anyways, Lake Calhoun’s water level had dropped precipitously in this heat-wave…

Still thinking about his ruined plans, John absent-mindedly tore open the envelope. The contents spilled out, careening off the side of the desk on their way to the floor. John looked down at the broken glass vials, saying “Now what in the he-”

His head thudded to the desk as the sarin gas spread throughout the open-concept office. By the time Suzie slumped over her the arm of her chair, a thin stream of blood issued from John’s nose. Its path curved as it travelled the desktop, dripping off the side and pooling amidst the canisters. The blood sparkled a bright red, the same shade, the exact hue of the logo on the mug – Minneapolis Nuclear Research and Development.

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Posted on July 6, 2015, in 10%, Mauve Prose, Short(er) Stories and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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