Terminal Retirement
1,000 word Flash Fiction Practice
Practice Criteria:
Genre: Spy
Location: Airport
Item: Socks
He took in his appearance in the airport men’s room mirror. The fluorescent lights did him no favors. He looked at least 10 years older than a week ago, though he supposed that was a good thing. The disguise was one that she wouldn’t expect. Maybe this time he could escape without incident. He just wanted to live the rest of his life out in peace. Hadn’t he earned it during his many years of service taking her orders…? Taking the lives of others?
He frowned and admired just how realistic his fake white facial hair was. He, and other assassins in the industry, would be lucky to see themselves at this age sans disguise. It was ironic that he would choose such a disguise as his ex-boss tried to send him off into retirement by way of a gruesome death come too soon.
A muffled voice came over the sound of a flushing urinal.
“Hey, you done here or what? Some of us have flights to catch.”
He turned to face the intrusive voice. A middle-aged man with a greasy ponytail had his hands on his hips, waiting expectantly for his turn at the sink. In his younger days, he would’ve used the spare time before his flight to really work this guy over. Instead, he found a smile spreading on his face.
“Absolutely. It’s all yours.”
He grabbed his roller bag and stepped away from the sink to give the greasy man a wide berth. Outside, he checked the departures on the TV screens. Finding his flight to Italy delayed for the third time, he cursed to
himself. Time was running out. How long before she found him? She could be on her way here right now or even in the terminal, searching for him.
He resigned himself to sitting near his gate. He had purchased a newspaper from one of the stands after he made it through security. He didn’t care much for reading newspapers, it was too negative for him these
days, but it would help him to deflect and blend. He had started thumbing through the newspaper for the second time when a little girl, no older than ten plopped down in the seat next to him. It wouldn’t have bothered him much except for the fact that there was ample space and she clearly expected him to interact with her. The thought sent a shudder through him.
“Hello,” she said with a toothy smile.
“Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to talk to strangers?”
“I don’t have any parents,” she said matter-of-factly.
He felt himself turning crimson. This is why he hated children. Even before he was sterilized for the company, he never wanted children. Government overthrows and flashy assassins were his every day. But, children? They terrified him.
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that, but I think you should rejoin your family.”
He drew the newspaper closer to his face, hoping that she would take the hint and leave him alone.
“Oh, I can’t go back to my group until I complete my mission.”
The word, “mission,” stilled him and he dropped the newspaper slightly to look at the girl once more.
“Mission?”
“Oh yes. Very important stuff. I’m on a spy mission,” she whispered with a smirk.
He sighed and relaxed his shoulders. Why were children so creepy and imaginative? He almost laughed at the absurdness of his statement. As a professional assassin, his professional advice to her would have been not
to proclaim it to anyone, especially not strangers in an airport.
“Uh huh,” he murmured. He checked his watch, folded the paper, and nodded to her. “If you’ll excuse me, miss spy.”
“But wait! I need your help to complete my mission!” she pleaded as he rose.
“I can’t right now, kid,” he huffed as he marched back towards the restroom and she followed on his heels. “Go play with someone else. Who the hell is watching you?”
The girl didn’t dare follow him into the bathroom, but he heard her sigh to herself loudly from just outside the doorway. He walked to the very end and was grateful that it was so late the bathrooms were nearly empty. Just one stall sat occupied. He locked himself in one and sat down on the top of his luggage. Forced to sit in a dirty airport bathroom to wait for his flight because of a little girl. How ridiculous. He couldn’t wait until he touched down in Italy and could disappear forever. He could live in the countryside, away from everyone else. He could finally have that garden.
A knock came on the door and he groaned.
“Occupied,” he growled.
Now banging.
“I said someone’s in here, asshole. What, are you, deaf?”
Louder.
“Knock it off or I’m coming out and kicking your ass!” he shouted.
The banging abruptly stopped, but through the crack in the door, he could see a man still standing just outside. He sighed. Probably the little girl’s keeper come to tell him off for being rude to her. Well, he had another thing coming. He jerked his luggage out of the way and threw the stall door open to reveal the greasy man from earlier smiling at him. Before he knew what was happening, the greasy man swung a weighted sock and let it land with a sharp crack against his arm. Was that soap?
“What the fuck?” he shouted at the greasy man.
Another whack landed on the right side of his head and he stumbled back into his stall, tripping over his luggage and landing seated on the toilet. The greasy man beat him over and over with the sock encased soap. Just as he was about to lose consciousness, he looked up at him through swollen eyes.
“Why?” he asked.
The greasy man wordlessly began to claw at his face, shredding the red, sweaty skin.
He slumped further down on the toilet, life leaving him.
It was her. She found him.
