Not My Career by Storm Aria

Author:Storm, Aria
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-11-05T00:00:00+00:00

Eleven:

By the middle of the day, I still had no leads as to where Iona had fled. She was uttered only in the most trembling of tones and almost walked away if I asked about a young Cuban fugitive.

While I asked questions, Beth was watching the people I talked with, and almost stalked them like a jungle cat. It was not lost on me what she was willing to do to protect our mission. She was going to kill them, should they appear to be scurrying off to snitch on us in hopes of a reward.

My wording had been very carefully selected any time I brought Iona up. I spoke of hearing about some criminal who was running the streets attacking military personnel. I kept my slant in the direction of the government, to seem just a concerned rich girl with an over-interest in her own welfare.

It was easy to play a rich girl since it was my birthright. All I had to do was channel my big sister and instant bitch! I found that adopting this persona also helped me to bend the truth better since I was able to rationalize that it was not me rather my sister who was being duplicitous. I was merely acting out the role truthfully, and in so doing, I was better able to be deceptive. (My head hurts from trying to digest my logic, so don’t even bother!)

My slightly bitchy self seemed to help keep me at arm’s length mentally speaking. I suppose there is a lot to be said for the human ability to adapt and bend on command. I noticed very quickly that no matter how well-intentioned people seemed here, they were not willing to share anything of substance with me. Most were too scared or too wary of me. It did not help that their military was watching the exchanges from a slight distance, but not too much of a distance for the people to feel any less terrified by the looming soldiers.

Most exchanges were all summed up to the same basic praise the government, and wish me a good time in the city format. Almost like I was speaking to a host of automatons, and not humans. As a journalist, it was frustrating for me, because it seemed nearly impossible to dig at the truth when everyone was so scared that all they would tell were the state-sponsored lies.

“Excuse me, can I have a moment of your time?”

I asked as I approached an aging woman who looked to be in her late fifties. She was greying, but I could still see the beauty of her youth peeking out. She was every bit as leery of me as everyone else, but she stopped and seemed to consider the request for a long moment.

“Si, si.”

She said, but her tone was weary, or maybe anguished. She sounded deeply troubled even to my ears. I walked over to her and I smiled at her and she seemed every bit as tense as the next person.

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