A Day in the Life
Collection of drabbles.
l l l Part 5 l l l
Flashes of his last mission played behind his closed eyelids, painful reminders of what it cost to work for Shinra. He let the water pour over his head and down his body, the warmth penetrating his cold body, but not his heart. It washed away the remnants from the night before, washed all the sweat and tears he didn't cry down the drain, probably half-clogged with years of blood and brain matter and filth. He rested his head on the tiles, the water cascading down his back, and the images continued to play.
Aiming the gun right at the woman's forehead, he sneered contemptuously down at her. "Where is he?"
With wide, tearful eyes, she pleaded, "No! I don't know! He didn't—"
Bang.
The sound of her body hitting the ground was unnaturally louder in Reno's ears than the shot itself.
"Bitch."
He turned and left the room, heading in the direction he remembered seeing Rude go, wondering if he was having any luck with the other renegade.
He could still hear her body hitting the cold, tile floor. With his head against the shower wall, he vaguely wondered if the floor she fell upon felt like the tile he was leaning on—cold, emotionless, and white.
No, he thought, the floor wasn't white. Anymore, at least. Dark red blood had been splattered carelessly across the surface of the floor, and it continued to run from her lifeless body, he remembered. It seeped into the cracks, stained the grout red like paint. Yes, like paint. He had wanted to run his fingers through it, knowing it would go to waste anyway, dark red blood that was no longer keeping something alive. But her blood was already on his hands, no matter how hard he tried to tell himself that it wasn't. That he hadn't touched her blood. He hadn't reached down to satisfy that desire—that split-second temptation. He had left without her blood, at least he hoped.
l l l
to be continued.