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If today was your last day (standard:adventure, 995 words)
Author: Rich EubanksAdded: Mar 26 2009Views/Reads: 2103/994Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
This is a story written for a contest. The contest was to write, less than 1000 words, a story relating to the song by Nickleback.
 



John heard the faint sound that he'd heard only a few moments before and
knew that someone else was now opening that same door he'd opened. 

It wasn't a creaking, or a squeaking that doors might normally make.  It
was a soft sound, almost a whisper, as the little brush, attached to 
the bottom to help insulate, rubbed on the floor as the door swung 
slowly into the room. 

The Iranian soldiers weren't likely to hear it.  Unlike, John, they
weren't trained to hear it.  But, John did hear it and knew he was 
certain to be found in the immediate future. 

It wasn't something you were necessarily trained to do.  It wasn't
something you ever thought about actually doing.  It was simply 
something you had to do.  It was your responsibility just as much as 
keeping a secret about the information you were collecting. 

John felt for that small knot under the skin of his left forearm.  In
that brief moment that seemed an eternity, John remembered feeling it 
constantly the first month or so it was there.  He remembered how 
careful he'd been about it, and how he'd worried every time that part 
of his body had been hit, squeezed, or even bumped. 

But now, he worried about how hard it might be to actually squeeze the
tiny insert enough to break it open so the contents could do their 
duty. 

John heard the footsteps nearing the small closet he'd taken sanctuary
in.  He pinched the skin on both sides of the small knot on his arm and 
squeezed as hard as he could, instantly feeling the knot crush under 
his power. 

It was over.  He only had about a day, one more sunrise and one more
sunset, to endure whatever the Iranian authorities might inflict on 
him.  He could handle that. 

The steps were getting fainter now, not closer.  That sound again, that
swishing, that only he had heard.  They were gone. 

‘My arm,' John felt for the knot that was no longer there, ‘no going
back now', John thought and without regret, knowing he'd only done what 
he had to do in the situation he finished his thought, ‘what do I want 
to do today?” 

But John knew already.  He'd never really thought this moment would
come, but like he had immediate action plans for most things, he had 
made one for this scenario as well. 

As John hurried out of the dirty building and into the dark streets of
Masshad he knew his final destiny.  He'd planned this out in detail 
years ago when his friend from high school and college had died so 
young from AIDs.  His friend who'd helped him with his studies so many 
times.  His friend who'd been made fun of relentlessly, yet never hated 
his adversaries and always seemed to understand and forgive them. 

John remembered their last conversation that day at the hospital.  John
remembered them joking about their plan of injecting congress with the 
virus in order to get the research money. 

And, John thought about how he'd modified that plan to a more realistic
version that just might work. 

It was easier negotiating an unfriendly environment when you had nothing
to lose and John made good time getting back to his room. 

It was really a quite simple plan.  He took the time to have a last
shower, shave, and even apply some cologne that he carried, but seldom 
was able to wear.  It was a special day, after all, not unlike a 
special date with a special friend. 

John looked at himself in the cracked mirror over the dirty dresser and
adjusted his tie just right.  He opened his sport coat just enough to 
see the specially crafted tranquilizer rifle, then let it fall back 
together to see that there were no signs that rifle was there. 



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