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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1745505-Being-a-spy
Rated: E · Short Story · Comedy · #1745505
My attempt at a little comical writing. Written a few years ago.
The book I held sounded very interesting. It was all about a spy, agent E-13, and how she was tracking another spy, agent X-30, that was more experienced, and more deadly, than her. And, unbeknownst to either of them, E-13 was being followed by another agent, H-18, who was in the assassin class, the deadliest of them all.
Flipping through the pages, I caught glimpses of conspiracies, fierce battles, and forbidden romances. I looked at the cover that was colored in somber blacks, blues and reds (shadows and blood, I assumed) and I sighed as I slowly sank down onto the little sofa that was in the middle of the little bookstore. Just as my behind hit the worn-out cushions, my overactive imagination kicked in.
Mother always said it would get me into trouble someday.

Now, you need to understand something about my imagination. It works more like a movie than a book, and, like all movies, it needed background music. So, since I was thinking about spies, I thought it only appropriate that the first song to pop into my head was the James Bond theme. And now that we have the right music, I started imagining our heroine, based after myself, of course. She looked exactly like me, a blond-haired, blue eyed girl, and, since it was my imagination, I enhanced her a little. I mainly made her (me) a little thinner…..ok, a lot thinner. Hey, it doesn’t hurt to dream a little!
Anyway, now that we had theme music and a heroine (which I dressed in a tight leather jumpsuit) it was now time to work on the setting. I imagined the heroine, whom I had named Jara, to be on top of a speeding car, crouched in a Spiderman-like position. I’m not quite sure what she was doing up there, but I knew that it was some dangerous, top-secret mission. Maybe there was a master criminal in the car, speeding away from the scene of some hideous crime; or maybe it was an informant, and she was secretly protecting him. I don’t know... I’ll have to figure that out later.
Getting back to the setting, she was crouched low, hanging on to the car as it sped under bridges and through the back- alleyways of town. Which town, I wasn’t sure, but then again it didn’t really matter. As long as it had bridges and back-alleyways, I was happy with it. Anyway, now that everything was in place, it was time for the dialogue. Even in my imagination, creating the dialogue was never my strong point. I imagined her ear-piece buzzing silently in her ear, and she would tilt her head ever-so- slightly to answer it (I made sure that they all had state-of-the-art technology). The voice on the other end would be muffled, but she would know exactly who it was the moment he began to speak. Their conversation that I imagined them to have went something like this:

“Jara, status update.”
“I’m in position, sir.”
“Good. Deploy the tracker and return to base.”
“Understood. Jara out.”

I guess it was the criminal mastermind in the car, for it wouldn’t be quite so mysterious if it were the informant, but then again, who really knows? Anyway, I imagined her pulling out the small circle that was the tracker and place it carefully on the roof of the car, and then preparing to make her escape.
Jara, in all of the spy-glory that I have given her, changes her position so that she faced the wind of the rushing car full on. She adjusted some straps around her, and then pulled a small cord attached to her bag. Within a split second a parachute, black as night, flew open and expanded with the rushing wind, pulling her off the car lickety-split! But, and I suppose this is where the resemblance to me comes in, she did not see the bridge looming out of the shadows. The wind used the parachute and carried her at high speeds right into the concrete pillar that supported the massive structure. Ouch!

I jumped with a start, the bone-crunching impact knocking me out of my little high-speed adventure. I looked once more at the book in my hands, and then placed it back on the shelf. Perhaps being a spy just wasn’t for me, I wondered to myself as I scanned the other titles. Oh well; if that was the case, than I would just have to think of something else to do.
What’s this? A book on pirates! Hmm…..

The end…
Or is it?

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