Jamaila (skwirly) wrote,

what i'm working on

“Three?” the man behind the desk demanded. The messenger nodded wordlessly, and held out the packet of reports. With a curse, the normally unflappable man seized the papers and waved the messenger out. Three agents dead, in a massacre disguised as a pleasure boat outing. In Paris. Paris… He stilled, then looked down at the papers in his hand. Carefully, quietly, every movement feeling like it was through quicksand, he sat down in the battered chair, unfolded the papers onto his desk, and read the words he didn’t want to see.

  • proud of this today

    He remembered the numb, cottony feeling of her hand in his nerveless one and bounced his fingertips off of the wall, hard. It hurt. He smiled.

  • (no subject)

    I made myself a little website. It's very minimal. Once I have my design tools installed on my new computer, I'll snazz it up a little bit, although…

  • (no subject)

    In case you were wondering: That is all.

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