I sat there, my head buried in my hands, weeping quite openly and quite loudly. My golden curls hung over my pudgy candy stained hands, as tear after tear rolled its way down my cheeks. Some kind passerby decided to walk across this small portion of graveyard and see if he could help.
“I am sorry young miss, I know it’s hard to lose someone you love, but I promise time will heal all hurts.” said a kindly voice from a kindly old man.
I looked up, my big blue eyes still sparkling from my recent tears. I looked into that kindly old face and said, “Fark off Jack, otherwise I’m gonna pull your spleen outta your nose and stuff it back down your throat. And why by the way, are you talking to a little girl alone in a cemetery, you perv.?”
Here I started yelling for the police, not very loudly mind you, just enough to set his spindly old legs to pumping, with a look of utter horror plastered onto his face. I chuckled to myself, OK, I felt a little better, but not much that’s for sure.
Now about this time some of you astute readers, might be saying, “Geeze, that sure doesn’t sound like the way a little girl would talk, no by golly it doesn’t.”
Let me tell you something I learned about people that read too much. They think that they know everything. They think, that everything under the Sun, has been written about and since they’ve read most of it, they therefore know most everything. Well you don’t. There are things out there that you can’t even imagine, things that don’t fit into a nice neat little world of i before e, except after c.
Now, if you will suspend your disbelief long enough, you may learn something about how this all got started and how I, assassin extraordinaire, missed the most important deadline of my life.
It all started three years ago, when I got word from a friend down in Louisiana. His letter mentioned two things. First, there was a local tough guy that was putting the squeeze on one of the richer land owners that wanted to build some kind of mini-mall on his land. Second, the land owner was willing to pay huge amounts of money to have this guy removed.
At that time, I was still in the prime of my life. Six foot six, a punch that felt like a mule’s kick, and a mouth that would make a sailor blush. Needless to say, I was a bit c[/b]ocky. So when I got down to Louisiana, all I heard while my friend was talking was; money, old guy and dead. What I should have heard was; weird, voodoo and be careful. Alas, I wasn’t in the mood to listen, after all I was me, and I had faced a dozen jobs and come out unscathed. I had brought my name to the top of the list, for those who keep track of that sort of thing. What was one old man going to do to me?
I found his house easy enough, no security and the door was unlocked. I silently crept inside and found him sitting there, at his faded yellow kitchen table as if he were expecting me.
I looked at him with cold blue eyes and asked, “You know why I am here?”
The withered old man looked at me and chuckled, “Yes I do, and if you leave now I will forget that you came at all.”
“Look old man, you are as helpless as a little girl, I am afraid you are in no position to laugh.” I pointed out.
“Aren’t I?” He asked.
A few things happened at once then; I raised my gun to finish the job, the old man stood up, mumbled something and quick as a snake, threw a powder at me. The gun fired, the world went dark and the next thing I knew I was staring up at the old man.
Crap, he went and made himself a giant. He towered over me, but I did notice he clutched his side where a quick flow of crimson blood had stained his dirty white shirt. He looked down at me and chuckled that same death dry chuckle.
“Now who is helpless?” He asked me, as he mumbled some more and simply vanished.
On my way out I passed a mirror in his house and stopped. What the fark? I was maybe, three foot ten, had a mop of golden curls, a pudgy face that belonged on a cherub and a pug nose. I looked like a ten year old girl! No, oh what ever Saint watched over fools, no!
I spent the last three years tracking this guy down. Trying to make him reverse the spell, and return me to my previous self. I found him today, or at least his gravesite. It seemed I was a week too late. I had missed my most important deadline and now I was stuck this way forever. I put my head back in my hands and started to cry again. Who wants to hire an assassin that farking looks like Shirley Temple? The end of my deadline had turned into the beginning of the rest of my life. Fark it all!