My sister and I must have looked alike because on a mission, I sat in a coffee place with sunglasses by the street, and a man came up to me, calling me Cloey, May's whore name. He sat down and slid an envelope to me. His eyes were a dull grey, he looked anxious, smelled of sweat and cologne, not ugly, he was in his early thirties. Inside the envelope was ten thousand dollars, about to accept his offer, my target walked out of a store. I gave the man his money and ran off. My target was the girlfriend of the married Mr. Thorton, a drug dealer with seven wives. I walked up to her and kissed her neck. She turned to me and smiled, pulling me into a dark alley. She pressed me against the wall, kissing my lips, my neck, my chest. As she looked down to reach up my skirt, I put a knife in her neck and covered her mouth. She screamed in agonizing pain but her screams were muffled in my hand. I heard her choking on her blood and soon, she was still. No one would miss her, would they? Did she have someone to cry for her? I went home solemnly. The snow woman pats my head and I went to shower. When I looked in the mirror, I saw my sisters face staring back at me with my eyes.
