Status: PROGRESSSS!!!
The Memoir of Irene Parsons
Target in the Crosshairs
12:07 AM. November 18th
Irene’s mind raced. Her left hand curled itself into a tight fist to hold her leather bound book in it’s place on the table. Numbers had come and gone, their only evidence of existence being the ink on her page. Numbers and equations and formulas filled up the entirety of thirteen pages in Irene’s book. Next to her lay the eviction notice, exactly where it had been left. She was enraged.
People like the super of the building existed for one reason, she rationalized. They existed to give her something to think about. The man was a nonentity by any stretch of the mind. He was imperfect. He was nothing to her, and rather inferior in character as compared to Irene. People like him, she knew, were what genocide was designed for.
By the time 12:15 rolled around, Irene knew she had to leave. No longer did she want the grime of a goddamned small town on her skin. With her green bag, keys, and few items she always carried on her person, she walked out of her apartment and into the narrow hallway of the apartment complex.
The walls, originally white, had a yellowed tint to them. The ceiling and top halves of the walls were stained with water and other questionable substances, and the floors were moist and cold.
Walking briskly past the super’s apartment, she made a point to spit on his door. Fuck him.
Her high heels made a painfully loud clicking noise as she walked out into the pitch dark parking lot. She wasn’t scared, rather Death himself was scared of Irene. Slipping into her black Grand AM, she kicked her inconspicuously placed hand gun under her seat. Her only destination she could identify for the moment was Terra’s diner for her last midnight coffee in her current favorite place to haunt.
Her ghostly light fingers gripped the wheel as she accelerated towards the diner.
Once she pulled under the half-illuminated neon sign, she took great measures to adjust her make-up. She may have been homeless, but she certainly didn’t want to look like it. Locking her car behind her, she opened the door.
Waiting two blocks away was a red Mitsubishi Eclipse. The man inside took a long drag from his cigarette. He knew exactly what he was doing. He’d done it countless times before, and this time would be no different than the last. He would wait twenty minutes. Exhaling the last of his cigarette, he threw it out the window, reclined his seat backwards, and smiled. Tonight will be the most fun he'd had in a very, very long time.
Irene’s mind raced. Her left hand curled itself into a tight fist to hold her leather bound book in it’s place on the table. Numbers had come and gone, their only evidence of existence being the ink on her page. Numbers and equations and formulas filled up the entirety of thirteen pages in Irene’s book. Next to her lay the eviction notice, exactly where it had been left. She was enraged.
People like the super of the building existed for one reason, she rationalized. They existed to give her something to think about. The man was a nonentity by any stretch of the mind. He was imperfect. He was nothing to her, and rather inferior in character as compared to Irene. People like him, she knew, were what genocide was designed for.
By the time 12:15 rolled around, Irene knew she had to leave. No longer did she want the grime of a goddamned small town on her skin. With her green bag, keys, and few items she always carried on her person, she walked out of her apartment and into the narrow hallway of the apartment complex.
The walls, originally white, had a yellowed tint to them. The ceiling and top halves of the walls were stained with water and other questionable substances, and the floors were moist and cold.
Walking briskly past the super’s apartment, she made a point to spit on his door. Fuck him.
Her high heels made a painfully loud clicking noise as she walked out into the pitch dark parking lot. She wasn’t scared, rather Death himself was scared of Irene. Slipping into her black Grand AM, she kicked her inconspicuously placed hand gun under her seat. Her only destination she could identify for the moment was Terra’s diner for her last midnight coffee in her current favorite place to haunt.
Her ghostly light fingers gripped the wheel as she accelerated towards the diner.
Once she pulled under the half-illuminated neon sign, she took great measures to adjust her make-up. She may have been homeless, but she certainly didn’t want to look like it. Locking her car behind her, she opened the door.
Waiting two blocks away was a red Mitsubishi Eclipse. The man inside took a long drag from his cigarette. He knew exactly what he was doing. He’d done it countless times before, and this time would be no different than the last. He would wait twenty minutes. Exhaling the last of his cigarette, he threw it out the window, reclined his seat backwards, and smiled. Tonight will be the most fun he'd had in a very, very long time.