Once Burned
By: Catherine Pate

The knife weighs against her heavily in her jacket pocket. She resists the urge to finger the wicked blade and instead settles on squeezing the handle of her empty briefcase. The business suit makes her feel out of place, as if she was playing dress-up in mommy's clothes.



Shifting awkwardly, she feels sweat gathering underneath the prosthetics she wears on her face, as well as her scalp raging underneath the scratchy wig placed primly upon her head.

Despite her anxiety and discomfort she knows that none of the passerbys give her a second thought, too wrapped up and busy with themselves.

Every time the elevator doors open she resists the urge to pounce. Instead she takes deep and subtle breaths. She closes her eyes in a futile attempt to soothe herself. For a split second she wonders if she'll go through with it .As soon as it appeared it leaves her mind. She loves her job- fuck, yes she's going through with it.

The 'BING' of the opening elevator interrupts her thoughts, and just like that she knows it's the one. She opens her eyes as if in a daze and zeros in on the man hurrying through the throng of people heading in her direction.

She pushes away from the wall behind her and snakes through the crowd, closing in on the man. She places her itching palm on the hilt of the blade and acts as if she is fishing for something in her pocket.

Using her perefrial vision she aims for him and roughly bumps into him, neatly sliding the blade into his chest and rendering him speechless. In the same instant she mutters a "Sorry" and continues on her way. Never sparing him a glance.

She can't help but smile as she hears him collapse behind her, and listens to the crowds shocked mutters.

By the time the screams start she is out of the building and already in a taxi heading for the airport, mentally calculating the extra charges for her slightly stained clothing.