Disclaimer: Noir does not belong to me. This story is rated M for Violence and disturbing images and thoughts. This is a PRE-series look into the mind of Mireille Bouquet.( This is written in her P.O.V.). This is an experiment in trying to write a different type style than I have been writing.
"METAL"
Nothing felt so comforting as the weight of a gun in my hand. I was in command when I had it pointing at my target. I could decide when to shoot it or when to hold back. Nothing felt more powerful than the choice to extinguish a life or when to defend my own.There was also the thrill of the kill, of the feel of the adrenalin pumping through my veins as I fought for my life or I ended somebody else's.
I have lost count on the lives I ended since I choose this path. It wasn't hard to get used to the power of the metal. The kickback, the sounds the bullets made as they whizzed past, the way the metal of the gun would become hot after all the magazine changes. Then there was the thrill of the chase. The art of stalking, sneaking or hiding in the fog until I finally found my victim. The satisfaction of defeating the target, of being able to be the lucky one to walk away as others lie twitching on the ground.
Then there was the sheer terror of looking down the end of a gun barrel not knowing if the next moment would be my last. The fear is always there that I WILL be next.So far, all of my life has been a sacrifice. Hopefully, I would leave a beautiful corpse behind when it became my turn. Just as my mother had. But who would mourn me?
This is the only life I know. The pay is good enough, but the cost to my soul has left me morally bankrupt. I accepted this a long time ago. My soul is tainted now, the more I kill and the blacker it becomes. Fate somehow decided that this would be my life. Why? I'm all alone but at least I'm deadly. I already feel dead and decayed inside too. I'm just going through the motions of everyday living, until I receive an assignment to carry out my duties as the grim reaper again. This is the only way I know how to survive. I'm just living on borrowed time, just stealing another breath.
It's funny how they always have that look of surprise when they find out who was the one to bring them to their final end. They never expect someone like me. I'm a young French blonde and in a mini-skirt, no less. Not exactly a skeleton in black death robes carrying a sickle. Just an attractive woman with a very, nice gun and a highly skilled assassin.
I don't know what tomorrow will bring or how long I can go on killing like this. There is no one to love me, no one I could ever get close to, who would ever understand this life of mine. Hatred, revenge and betrayal are always with me. The more I remember, the less I understand. The more is the part I try to let go of. Their bloody images are burned into my mind and then I realize why I am still on this path of mine.
Even after all I've done and how I know I belong in Hell, I still pray to God at night. (Please give me a future besides this one, please send me someone to love or just show me the light) I pray earnestly. I doubt He listens to one such as I. A killer...
It doesn't matter anyway, it's my fault. As I go to sleep, I cradle my gun next to me. It's the only sure thing I have in this world.
END
A/N- Just a view into Mireille's pre-Kirika mindset. She had to have a miserable life. If this works well, I might try Kirika's(but she might be tough )