The last contract I took was the one that killed me.
A statement like that is impossible for me to say, were it true.
The sequence of events that lead me to accept my last contract can all be traced back to her. That girl with the sun in her eyes.
We met for the first time, about two months ago. I bumped into her as she was walking down Main North, on her way to the mall, no doubt. She was carrying one cloth bag, straw-coloured fabric with the word "Chic" embroidered onto the surface and surrounded by purple and red sequins. It was strung over her right shoulder, the one I bumped into. That is how I noticed.
She gave me a look that I will never forget. A kind of glare, which hid a latent interest behind her eyes. Her lips twitched into a quick insincere smile. She mumbled a duplicitous apology towards me and went on her way.
A day later she was on the same road. Holding the same bag. I moved towards her and deliberately bumped into her same shoulder again. She gave me the same smile and muttered the same apology. This time, she adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder. I smiled at her and she smiled automatically, in a somewhat more sincere expression this second time.
The next day I took my brothers and sisters to meet her. We all walked down the same road at the same time. We walked into her in unison. Jostled her, as she dropped her bag to the ground and fell to her knees. The expression on her face was very honest this time and it was one of pure and unadultered fear. She stared down at the asphalt, wide-eyed and coughed blood into her hand.
My brothers, sisters and I watched on.
From that day on, we lived with the girl with the sun in her eyes.
In her lungs.
About two months later, she had a violent coughing fit. I was forced to leave her. Her lungs died with her.
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