Death of The Cobra | Teen Ink

Death of The Cobra

January 24, 2011
By AmazingGrace88 GOLD, Lake Oswego, Oregon
AmazingGrace88 GOLD, Lake Oswego, Oregon
13 articles 0 photos 25 comments

Favorite Quote:
No boys are worth your tears,
and the ones who are wont make you cry.

As she approaches me, her brown locks seep out from underneath her helmet, which masks all of her face except or a pair of brown, shining eyes- eyes so intimidating, so threatening, that it seems impossible they belong to such a beautiful woman. I back away slowly, my back brushing up against the alley’s brick wall. Panic fills my chest. I am trapped.

The roar of the engine cut off, her skinny figure casting a long, dark shadow on the sidewalk as she approached the bar and came into the light. She sported tight, black leather pants that curved in all the right places, a low-cut, black V-neck, and a black leather jacket that hugged her body with perfection. It was zipped up just below her breasts, her dark brown hair cascading over her shoulders and stopping just shy of her mid back. With no hesitation, she made her way to the bar and sat down. From my seat I had a perfect view of her face; she had high cheekbones and a slim jaw line with plush lips that practically begged to be kissed. Her eyes were something else, a dark chocolate brown that dazzled and danced in the low light. Her knee-high, heeled, black boots tapped against the metal bar stool as she waited for the bartender to hand over her martini. I watched as she took the drink and downed it in seconds. She placed the glass on the counter and waved her finger for another round. I stood from my seat on the opposite side and made my way around to empty stool right next to her.

“You have quite the tolerance, don’t you?” I asked as I watched her gulp down another martini. She smiled a little and turned to me, her brown eyes looking right at me, and yet they seemed preoccupied as she scanned the bar and then returned her gaze back to mine.

“I guess I do. It’s a bad habit, really,” she said. Her voice was stronger than I expected from such a slim young woman. She had a slight Russian accent, so slight that I couldn’t tell if I had heard correctly.

“It’s very impressive,” I added as I watched her switch to vodka and down a shot. “You must have had a hard day,” I observed. Her whole body was tense and she seemed rigid with pain.

“You have no idea,” she responded, just above a whisper. She turned to me and smiled as she got up, leaving a fifty dollar bill in her place. “It’s been a pleasure talking to you but I really must be going,” she said as she turned to the door.

“Wait! Uh… Would you like to… well, I don’t know… get a drink sometime? I mean, I can’t promise I’ll drink as much as you, but I’m sure we could still have a good time,” I asked as I watch her turn around so quickly that her hair flipped from one should to the other in a swift, graceful movement.

“I would love to, but I’m only in town for the next three days before I go home,” said as she looked me over. She observed my body for a while before returning her gaze back to mine.

“Oh, well that’s a shame, really. What about tonight?” I asked as she tilted her head ever so slightly.

“I guess I could manage a few hours of delay…” she said as she pondered how it could work out. “How about you swing by my place in an hour and we head out to dinner?” she finally said.

“Sounds great. Where are you staying?” I asked, shocked that she accepted. I had been so prepared for the regular turn-down. Sorry, I’m busy. Sorry, I can’t, I’m meeting a friend. No, I have a boyfriend.

“The Marriott, just up the road. Room 313,” she said as she turned to go. “See you in an hour!” she shouted over the music and the laughter of the twenty-one year-olds to my right.


There is nowhere left to go. She has backed me into a corner and is approaching with long, confident strides that hammer her tall, black boots on the pavement. The echoes come in from all directions, piercing my eardrums.


After tipping the bartender, I made my exit and headed straight to my apartment. I stripped off my clothes and started a hot, steamy shower. While the water warmed, I turned to observe myself in the mirror. The man staring back at me was tall, dark, and handsome- but don’t let my looks fool you; my past was as deadly as the strike of a cobra: fast-moving, dedicated, and lethal.


Ring ring ring. She reached for her phone and clicked it on. “Hello?”

“Your target has been identified; this is the man we have been seeking. Your orders are clear. Kill him.” The phone clicked off and the line went dead. Her mission was set, her orders were given, and she was to carry them out without fault.


The hot beads of water rolled down my arms and pelted my back as I leaned my head into the water and submerged my face in its graceful current. The water relaxed me; it helped me unwind and momentarily forget all the terrible crimes I had committed. As I stood enjoying the steam that rolled over the tops of the curtains and into my bathroom, I heard yelling.


Without much thought, she grabbed her keys and made her way to his apartment. She had been given her orders, she had no time to waste, and it was time to put the plan into action. She sped through the streets, having memorized which turns to take and how to beat the dinner rush. She parked her bike in front of the apartment complex and made her way down into the alley. By now the hired couple had been placed and started their pointless dispute. It was now only a matter of time.


I reached for my towel and stepped into my bedroom. I slipped on my new shirt, towel-dried and combed my hair, then made my way downstairs. Looking over the banister, I could see Mr. and Mrs. Pearson battling it out in their usual routine. They had been my neighbors for over six years, and every night they would have one of their vigorous arguments- yet somehow they were still together. It seemed as though they had begun to make a scene by the main door, so I headed for the one that opened into the back alley.


As she comes closer, she reveals her weapon of choice, a nine millimeter pistol, and before I have time to react, before I have time to mutter a word or even breathe, I am staring down the barrel. I watch in panic-stricken silence as she cocks the gun and pulls the trigger.

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Tell me what you think, what do I need to work on?

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