A Single Drop of Water

He sits in front of the computer monitor, leaning slightly forward in his swivel chair in a manner that suggests that his frame of attention is smaller than even the screen; perhaps he does not even see the words he stares at, but only the individual letters that glow brightly. Perhaps his brain struggles to see past the black slashes to the sounds they symbolize and compose: the music of language.

A cigarette droops limply from between dry lips that barely touch the filter, and the smoke that swirls upward to the ceiling is reminiscent of prayer. He does not see the dingy-gray ash that drops to cover his hands spread like butterfly wings above the keyboard. His fingers are long and still; his lips are loose and quivering delicately.

His eyes are the color of sky; blue and gray in equal parts, and tight in their focus. Eyes like his have made brave men hesitate and women flutter and melt (and sometimes vice versa). His life has made him a fierce man, but nowhere else is this so apparent as in his steady gaze.

The room in which he sits is completely dark except for the monitor in front of him, and that light plays and flickers eerily across his still serene face. The glowing cherry of his cigarette stands out clearly, and it bobs up and down as he mouths the words he reads on the screen silently.

“I understand.” He speaks out loud to the dark, lonely room, and his voice is pleasant and rough. “The project is to be terminated.”

He picks up an object from beside the computer, something that shines silver in the low lighting. He cocks and loads it in a single smooth motion, then tucks it in the tight black coat against his skin.

He melts into the shadows.