July 27, 2012

Polish - July 27, 2012

[note: this was written during a writing exercise: we had 20 minutes to write something inspired by the word "polish". This is the result, unedited, exactly as it appeared when time ran out. You can read all of them in the waves category]]

Polish- Squiddy Geiger - July 27, 2012

Harry carefully removed the dirt and dust from his shoes in preparation for the polish. Everything had to be just right. Get every speck of dust off, every iota of dirt. It was the first step in a process that would leave them gleaming perfectly.

Kill. That's what he had to do. He worked slowly and carefully, thinking as he went. To Kill. To deprive of life, to cause the death of. He spat on the cloth to remove a particularly troublesome bit of spot.

Plan. He always had a plan. His left shoe was clean, ready for the next step. He turned to the other shoe, examining it intently before starting work. The plan had to be perfect, leave nothing to chance. Just as he had left nothing to chance in the past, nor would he in the future. He removed the laces of the right shoe.

Execution. A funny word, that applied both to the act, and the process. He swore as he spotted some damage that could be hidden by polish; he'd still know it was there. That would rankle, he hated imperfection.

Escape. Get away cleanly, perhaps the most important part of the plan. if he buggered up the execution, he could still get away to safety, out of reach of extradition. He applied a thin layer of polish to each shoe, careful to fill the damaged area uniformly, to hide it.

Debriefing. He'd go over the events afterwards, analyzing what had happened. He might be alone, but he'd still debrief himself as thoroughly as any superior might debrief a subordinate. He buffed the shoes vigorously, careful to reach every spot, giving the shoes a uniform, high gloss shine. He inspected them carefully as he finished, touching up carefully here and there.

Perfect. He got up and placed them by the door, where they would be ready for his mission tomorrow. Nothing was left ever left to chance.

Posted by Squiddy at July 27, 2012 08:45 PM | TrackBack