God’s Messengers
As they listen to Jack paint the story of this old song with his clear voice, a trail of color spins from the tape recorder, as if following an invisible paintbrush.
“Rose, rose, rose, rose, will I ever see the wed? I will marry at thy will, sire at thy will…”
“Shit, he’s really good…” she says, eyes trying to follow the streak of unnamed color– but it moves with the jerk of her eyes, imprinted on her vision like light.
“I don’t see what’s so great about it,” Cooper drawls, lifting his chin and staring at the swarm of blurred color with distaste and a bit of green envy. He looks away, back at their employer, who is staring calmly at the smoke like substance drifting through his office.
“Oh poor bird, take to flight, high above the sorrows of this––”
Click.
“I think that’s all you two need, Mr. Cooper, Ms. Steele,” Mr. March says, re-stacking the papers, and passing the folder to Steele. “The contract to kill has been approved by Him.”
He straightens his tie, nodding to both of them as they stand up.
“That I Am wants all of this color erased from his city. Please send the next group in.”
Steele and Cooper turn, making the same, subtle movement to check the inside pocket of their jackets for the grip of a gun. They exit the room, stride in stride, looking like God’s Messengers of Death with their black trench coats and sinister smiles.
“Alright, who’s next? Let’s see…please have a seat, Davis, you’re going to take care of item 613, also known as…”
As they listen to Jack paint the story of this old song with his clear voice, a trail of color spins from the tape recorder, as if following an invisible paintbrush.
“Rose, rose, rose, rose, will I ever see the wed? I will marry at thy will, sire at thy will…”
“Shit, he’s really good…” she says, eyes trying to follow the streak of unnamed color– but it moves with the jerk of her eyes, imprinted on her vision like light.
“I don’t see what’s so great about it,” Cooper drawls, lifting his chin and staring at the swarm of blurred color with distaste and a bit of green envy. He looks away, back at their employer, who is staring calmly at the smoke like substance drifting through his office.
“Oh poor bird, take to flight, high above the sorrows of this––”
Click.
“I think that’s all you two need, Mr. Cooper, Ms. Steele,” Mr. March says, re-stacking the papers, and passing the folder to Steele. “The contract to kill has been approved by Him.”
He straightens his tie, nodding to both of them as they stand up.
“That I Am wants all of this color erased from his city. Please send the next group in.”
Steele and Cooper turn, making the same, subtle movement to check the inside pocket of their jackets for the grip of a gun. They exit the room, stride in stride, looking like God’s Messengers of Death with their black trench coats and sinister smiles.
“Alright, who’s next? Let’s see…please have a seat, Davis, you’re going to take care of item 613, also known as…”