Unusual

A woman with an unusual occupation.

Unusual

I lead an unusual life.
I am a diseased and twisted bramble of soul, thorny and cantankerous, which, perhaps until recently, has been imprisoned in a deep turning of my mental labyrinth.
Usually, I would just stay in bed with my covers pulled up over my head, but there is no hiding from the monster when you know he is right there under those covers with you.
I kill people. That’s what I do if the price is right. Not too bad for a girl.
My name is unknown because that is what the organization I work for wants. I am nobody, and nobody knows me until I come for them.
I’m creeping through the target's house like a silent little mouse.
In the kitchen, I opened the refrigerator. Finding nothing unusual in the fridge, I moved on to the freezer compartment, feeling obligated to explore further.
The freezer contained several opaque Rubbermaid containers with red lids, the shape and size to store leftover deep-dish lasagna. I would not have opened these if the lids hadn’t contained hand-printed labels: Joyce Cousins, Julie Gunner.
When I lifted the containers, I saw more names. So I started with the first one, Joyce Cousins. I pried off the top, and I found a woman’s breast inside. The others contained more parts of a woman’s body.
I had seen enough, so I closed the freezer door. Perhaps my psychotic target, having contemplated his delicious violence upon women, now had a real desire for it, a need.
I heard something. "There's a storm coming."
I stood there for some time, my legs as cold as marble inside my jeans, my nipples feeling sharp enough and hard enough to cut paper, my lips dead dry.
Then I was shot in the back of the head.