Young Writers Society

Her weapon of choice was a bread knife. Verona didn’t own a gun, and didn’t have time to learn how to shoot. Her best bet was to get up close and stab.

She took it from the kitchen that night, after Analia had retired to her room to study. She spent the equivalent of hours in the Room of Shaping, honing both edges and rebalancing it to make it more like a dagger. She had worked with metal before, so she knew the basics. Although she had never made a weapon before, a quick search on the webs generated plenty of information about the differences between daggers and kitchen knives.

While in the Room, most people used the tools that appeared along the walls, the same ones used if making the item in real life. Verona had never liked that – it was just so inconvenient. As she had progressed in her studies, she had found that most academics said this was because the person’s mind made the Room conform to what they saw as reality. The trick, then, was to open the mind to accept a different reality.

And Verona was making progress. After a year or so of meditation techniques, she no longer needed to heat up metal to Shape it. Hammering the metal sufficed. It was slow work, but less tiring than heating it and more accurate than Verona had expected. She hoped to reach the point where all materials were like clay in the Room, but this would work for now.

She hit the dagger a few more times, using a hammer that was almost like a chisel. It shifted the metal aside to form a slight groove that ran down the middle. She picked up the knife and tested the balance, hoping she had done it right. It felt comfortable in her hand, so she decided to leave it. Now for the handle.

It was made of an odd plastic, with bumps on one side for the person’s fingers. Those would have to be smoothed out. She ran her fingers along the grooves, testing the plastic to see if it would move. It didn’t. She gave it an experimental tap with the hammer, but nothing happened. She had no idea what tools to use for Shaping it. Oh well. Only the blade matters anyway.

She exited the Room and plunged back to reality, suddenly aware that the hard metal bars of her bed were digging into her back. The kitchen knife sat on her lap, now sharp and pointy like a dagger. It had been a bread knife, so one edge was still serrated. She picked it up and examined it, making sure all her work had held. As she examined the edge, her finger slipped, tearing a small gash in her finger. It was sharp, all right. Perfect.

She went to bed soon afterwards, although she couldn't sleep. It was hard to ignore the reality of what she was going to do. If she got caught, it was all over. She would just have to rely on surprise and speed.

-

He was very kind. She hadn't expected that. He greeted her graciously at the door and offered her some yiget punch.

"Come in, sit down," he said. "I'll be right there.”

She sat on a small couch and looked around. His apartment was small and sparsely furnished, and surprisingly clean. The living room only held the couch, a smartwall, and a table. An open door led to the kitchen, where she could see Murrin filling a plastic cup with her punch. A much younger Murrin smiled up from a picture on the table, arms around a girl and a boy that looked about his age.

Family? Verona banished the thought from her head. Can't afford to get distracted.

She fidgeted impatiently, hand on the knife in her bag. Murrin came back in and handed her the punch.

“Thanks,” she said, mouth dry. Her heart was pounding so loudly, she was surprised Murrin couldn’t hear it. He was standing so close to her. Her hand tightened on the knife. All she had to do was reach up and plunge it into his heart.

He stepped back, and the moment passed.

He sat down on the edge of the couch, a respectful distance from Verona, his body turned to face her. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he couldn’t seem to hold her gaze, glancing down at his knees every few seconds.

Verona waited. She had nothing to say to the man, but she wanted to give him the chance to speak in his defense.

Finally, he spoke. “Thank you so much for coming to talk to me. I know my apology is nowhere near enough, but I’m so, so sorry for what happened, and my part in it. Every day I wish I had checked that indicator light one more time.”

“Why should you care so much?” Verona asked. “You didn’t know my mother. And you weren’t exactly punished, either.”

Murrin sighed. “I know. And I don’t blame you for hating me – in your position, I’d feel the same way. As for why I care, well, I’ve lost people I love too. I know how much it hurts.”

“You haven’t lost your mother,” Verona said stubbornly.

“No,” he agreed. “My twin. It was…quite recent, actually.” He buried his face in his hands.

Verona’s eyes widened. That was all she needed to know. In a way, killing him would be a mercy. He would see his twin again, at least until they were both reincarnated and they forgot about each other. Truly, this was Nirvana’s will. An act of justice, with a sprinkling of mercy.

She pulled the knife out of her bag and stood up, towering over Murrin. Her heart pounded and her limbs tingled with anticipation. He looked up as she rose, alarm spreading over his face when he saw the weapon in her hand.

“I’m glad.” Verona said. “You will see your twin again shortly. Goodbye, Murrin. Murderer.”

She lunged forward to stab him in the heart, but he was too quick for her, his arm deflecting the knife so that it only scored a shallow gash in his side. He used his other arm to shove at her, knocking her off balance against the couch.

Verona turned as she fell, trying to stab him again, but he was already moving behind her, out of reach. Now that the element of surprise was lost, Murrin held nearly all the cards. He was bigger and stronger than she was, and she was only armed with the knife. At least he still seemed scared of her.

She regained her footing and went for him again, adrenaline pounding through her veins. He backed up quickly, a look of panic on his face, and tripped over the table. She dropped down and tried to stab him, but he grabbed her wrist inches from his face. She wasn’t strong enough to force her hand down, and she couldn’t get out of his grip.

Murrin raised his other hand – the one with the communicator – to his face. Verona made a grab for it, but couldn’t stop him

“Emergency, emergency!” Murrin screamed into his watch.

It was over. The police would be here within minutes. Murrin was too strong for her. She had failed. Verona summoned all her strength and yanked her hand from his.

She fled, glancing over her shoulder at Murrin, who was still cowering on the floor, and flung her dagger at him. It bit into his thigh, and he screamed, but the wound was nowhere near fatal.

“I’ll be back,” she swore. “I’ll find a way.” 

It was only bravado, but that was all she had now.