More practice

The midday sun stabs through the dusty venetian blinds, strewing sharp edged blades of light across the table. It glitters off the cheap, chipped nail polish painted on the bitten fingernails of the girl hunched over at the table. A mobile phone is cradled between her shoulder and ear as, having bitten through all her nails, she now proceeds to chew on her hair.

A black cat watches from the other end of the table, its bored expression mirroring the girl’s own.

“Are you even listening?” A voice on the other end asks in exasperation.

“Yes.” The girl lies.

“It won’t be my head on the chopping board if you screw up.”

“Yes.” The girl murmurs, the rhythm of her voice is completely unaffected either way by the thought of the hypothetical guillotine.

The cat stretches, its long sinewy body looks more like a snake than a cat, as if it could be a creature more biblical or sinful than a domesticated pet.

“Do you think cats go to heaven?” The girl interrupts the nagging on the other end of the phone. “Do you think they follow their masters?”

The voice sounds even more exasperated. “What the hell are you going on about now? Just focus on the job at hand.”

“The last job.” The girl repeats softly.

A pause. Then “Yes. The last one.”

“Just like the last one.” And this time there is a hint of mockery in her monotone voice.

The voice on the phone brushes it aside. “This is for the greater good. We’re heroes remember.”

The girl looks at the cat again. Its unblinking yellow eyes stare back into hers. From what she remembered from her picture books as a child, heroes were people who didn’t lie. The voice on the phone lied a lot. But then again, so does the girl.

The voice continues. “Have you finished the upload?”

The girl checks her computer screen. “10% left. I don’t think they do you know.”

“Do what?” The voice is clearly at the end of its tether.

“Follow their masters to heaven.”

“You’re talking about the damn cats again?”

“They don’t have masters.” The cat has grown bored with this game and now sleeps at the end of the table. “They just do what they want.”

“I really don’t understand you.”

“I see.” The dial on the screen fills with red, the circle complete.  “Goodbye.” The girl presses enter on her keyboard.

There is a load explosion mixed and flavoured with screaming. Then silence, only static over the airwaves.

In the distance sirens howl. The cat continues to sleep, its ears twitching. The girl continues to chew her hair and watches the blades of light slide across the table towards her.