almost flora kane

United States

my pen name is flora kane. i'm a slytherin, infp-t, christian, and generally insane. joined 3.30.2018.

~ will do reviews on request ~

currently hoping i don't lose anyone else.

Message to Readers

footnotes pleases. love you! don't know if you need to hear this, but you are strong, loved, and everything's going to be okay:)

also... would anyone be interested if i wrote a... something based on the dream smp? anyone?

the journalist

January 21, 2021

FREE WRITING

7
For three days, they had followed her. A woman and a man, one driving a red car, and the other, she noticed, in all black. Basic, she thought, nervously laughing in her head while trying to show no emotion. A placid look covered her face in an effort to stay calm. She would never admit to anyone how much it freaked her to be watched. Keep walking, were the only words she allowed in her head as if they could read her mind.

That was the first time she was found interesting by an antagonist, as she called them. Now, she looks back on the memory of her followers fondly. She named the pair Kendra and Tommy as she slowly became comfortable with the fact that her questions would not be answered. Instead, she explained them herself. 

Tommy was the first man who tried to kidnap her. He came up from behind, grabbing her hair and pressing a calloused hand against her mouth. She didn’t scream, though the urge came upon her. Still, he learned quickly not to try to capture her like she was a wild animal needing taming. She had a knife in his thigh quicker than she had ever practiced. The surprise was enough to allow her to break free.

“No,” she spat at him, flinging disgust in his angered face. Kendra moved forward, not to help him, but to grab her, though she stopped as the girl stood up. Tall and balanced, the only sign of her nerves was in the bloody knife twitching in her shaking hand. There was a challenge in both of their eyes, but the woman seemed to understand. She nodded, once, turning to the red car as the girl followed. That was the first time she gained respect from an assassin. 

Tommy sat uncomfortably in the passenger seat next to Kendra, who spent most of her time glancing back at the girl. She was pretending to stare out the window though her vision was completely black due to a blindfold she secured herself. Her knife was tucked in Kendra’s right hand, her dark skin contrasting with the unworn sheen of the blade. 

The girl shifted in her seat, and quickly regretted it. Trying to stop her hands from going numb cost her the image of looking unfazed. She expected worse, truthfully, than a blindfold and bound hands, but let her worries flit by with the classical music playing over the radio. 

When they stopped, she stumbled out of the car as Tommy pulled her. She could hear something like a growl come up in his chest as they moved. 

“My backpack,” she demanded. “I need my backpack.” When no one moved, she leveled her nonexistent gaze and turned her face from left to right, glaring at anyone near her. “I won’t ask again.” She snapped, channeling the energy of someone, anyone, more authoritative than she.

Eventually she heard movement, along with the ringing of metal zippers tapping each other. Tommy’s hand encircled her bicep, and they walked. 

Someone sighed at the sight of her, a long, breathy sigh that hissed through a man’s teeth. She found her footing as they stopped, squaring her shoulders, and staring straight ahead. A silence settled on the room, save for hissing breaths of the man. He stepped forward, and a smell similar to that of grime on a street corner made her nose twitch. His fingers gently touched her hair as he untied the cloth. The girl grit her teeth, struggling to stay still and to keep the revulsion from her face. When her eyes opened, it was a warehouse, of course, that they brought her to. 

They studied each other, the girl with her hair in knots, the man looking not really a man. His eyes were off putting, but his neck even more so. It resembled the hood of a cobra, the first thing anyone notices about him, with tattoos covering the area. The skin of his neck looked diseased, stretched awkwardly over the protrusion, shriveled in places, and the girl finally understood what horrified any other person. He saw that realization in her eyes, thinking it as fear. A smile grew on his face, and he glanced around the room at the faces of his men. She did not shake her stare from him. 

Slowly, the man’s grin disappeared, realizing his mistake. The girl was glad to see it fade, the smile made her think of the serpent in the garden. He came to another conclusion in an angered exhale. 

“How are you so sure I won’t kill you?” The man hissed, spittle hitting her face as he grabbed her neck, a finger grazing her jawbone. This time she grimaced, stumbled backward a step, and hated herself for it.

“Between you and I,” she began in a whisper, feeling Kendra’s gaze on her back, “there is a balance of power.” A pause touched the air between them with a laugh in the man’s throat. “A bridge between your world and mine based upon a story.”

“A story.” He scoffed as he threw her face away. The memory of his hand lingered, and for a second, she regretted her decision to start this all.

“Yes.” She stated, gathering the words to explain.  “I believe within every person, something yearns to be known,” the girl continued. “I want to give you recognition for the things you’ve done, and everything you’ve survived.”

“The things I’ve done,” He said, his upper lip curling in distaste. “You think I’m going to turn myself in. You think of me as a monster.” It surprised her that he didn’t take that label as a complement as most murderers do. 

“It’s not my place to form opinions,” she replied simply. Standing still became harder as she noticed a table and chairs sitting in the middle of the room. 

“What is your place?” he asked, wary of her even past his thoughts of authority. 

“To write,” the girl said with a nod, shifting in her place. “Your great and terrible - accomplishments - will be documented.” 

There was a moment of silence, then. One of debate, and she hoped that this was enough to offer. Surely there would be more conflict, but now was the time to learn if she was going to die. The man paced back and forth, his men moving around her. She wondered whether they were eager to see her blood pool on the floor. She watched as the man walked toward the table, metal and gleaming. Her head cracked against the corner in her mind, imagining the different ways he could hurt her. Instead, he sat. A hand grabbed her shoulder, and she flinched, glancing over as Kendra led her to the opposite chair. 

“How do you profit?” he says, more of a statement than a question. While guarded, the man’s gaze tells her she’s almost won.

“The only payment I ask of you is a favor,” the girl says while settling into the cool metal of the chair, “a phone number which I can call at any time.” The man looks as if he’s going to laugh, but she pulls out a bright red manilla folder. She stares, completely serious, and in a moment the amusement falls off of his face. “The limits of the favor are negotiable.”

---

How long ago was that? she wonders, sitting in a coffee shop with a bulky yellow envelope in her hands. The girl finally slides her nail into the edge, ripping it open after long minutes of remembering. 

One book? The printers had said, One book won’t make you a profit. She rolled her eyes under her sunglasses. I want you to print one book, she reiterated, throwing down the exact number of bills on his counter. He looked at her and laughed. She’s gotten used to being laughed at.

Now, that novel has reached her, at least a year later. It had been shipped straight to the man after printing. It slides out of the bubble wrap, 400 pages worth of long days and longer nights spent interviewing and editing. 

Nagendra, it reads on the cover, in exact, looping letters. Underneath, it’s written in Hindi. An Indian Cobra, a Naja naja, pictured in the center, with human eyes. Her finger drags along the lettering, over the snake, and down to the author’s name. The Journalist, it says, in her own handwriting. She wants to cry, looking down at the culmination of fear, excitement, and danger this piece of life holds. Flipping open to the title page, there is a note written in red ink. The girl laughs instead of crying, knowing the ink is probably blood. 

I know you hate what I have done, but I hope you do not hate who I am. Between us, there is a balance of power, isn’t there? ~ N

The words bring an odd sense of sorrow to her. She didn’t know she could feel grief for a murderer. Still, he is dead and gone, burned to the ground, and she was as close as anyone could get to friends with the man. A story is interesting in that way. This one, gathered up in pages and tied at the seams, holds a confession to everything he’s done. Thousands of copies are to be published hours from now, it’s what the contract states. It’s what he reminded her of when she used her favor, saying, Don’t forget to make me famous when I’m dead and gone. He obeyed her request, then, sending Kendra and Tommy over to her as new employees. They still refused to tell her their real names. 
i know, i know, an abrupt ending, but this is as far as i'm going for now. this is one of those that i am so greatly hoping for feedback. i really need to know whether this makes sense, whether it's interesting, and whether you like it (and the title) so far. please help! 

Print

See History
  • January 21, 2021 - 12:56pm (Now Viewing)

Login or Signup to provide a comment.

7 Comments
  • happy butterfly

    replying: aww thank you so much. your support means so much to me<3


    4 months ago
  • xx carolina xx

    re: dude, just go for it! the key to word vomits is not to think about what you're writing, just let the words come to you.


    4 months ago
  • Saher Gole

    What a thrilling piece!! A bit confusing for me, but really worth it :)


    4 months ago
  • Paisley Blue

    love thissss :)


    4 months ago
  • xx carolina xx

    your characterization is *chef's kiss*
    (this is izzy btw, i finally decided on a username i like lol)


    4 months ago
  • AstroWriter

    I think it is a bit confusing but overall awesome! I love the concept too


    4 months ago
  • Rachaelgrace

    this is so good and filled with action! nice job :)


    4 months ago