Categories > Cartoons > Justice League Unlimited > Red

Losing Perspective

by yugioh4ever 0 Reviews

Category: Justice League Unlimited - Rating: PG - Genres: Angst,Drama - Characters:  - Warnings: [!] - Published: 2014/01/01 - Updated: 2014/01/01 - 811 words

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Emma was physically shaking when she looked in the mirror and saw, for the first time, not a killer but a murderer.

The sink water ran loud like a waterfall in the small and cramped bathroom and she struggled to scrub her hands clean. She tried to scrub away the sinking feeling in her chest but to no avail. She stared and wondered why. By far this was not the first time she had taken a life and she was sure it wouldn't be the last. She met her own emerald eyes in the reflection, wondering if she is really even the same person as the one staring back at her.

The woman inside of the glass was pretty, beautiful even. Her amber hair was glossy and hung heavily down her back. Her eyes were intense and she was always glaring, so it seemed. She was stone-cold and hardened. She could slit someone's throat and not bat an eye. She could torture someone for answers or just for fun and lose no sleep. This woman in the mirror did not know the girl standing before her in the small bathroom. The woman in the mirror could easily crush this girl with only a glance.

The girl averted her eyes and focused on her hands. Even if it was only a figment of her imagination and wasn't truly there, the blood of another mercenary named Jennifer was caked underneath her nails. She didn't personally know this woman but she had killed her. She could have had a brother, like she did. She could have had a mother and father, like she did. She could have had kids, like she did. She could have even been the light of someone's life, like she used to be.

She scrubbed harder.

Of course, she doesn't know if Jennifer ever had any family. She only knows that her bosses paid her an attractive sum of money to rid the world of Miss Jennifer, the outdated and now unneeded mercenary. Emma completed the job and the pocket of her jeans was now swollen with a wad of hundred dollar bills.

As she picked at the underside of her nails she wondered why in the hell she was so hot and bothered about this kill. She glanced at her own reflection and could feel a tug in her chest. She knows exactly why she feels the way she does. The shoe could have easily been on the other foot. She could have been the one assassinated just a few hours ago. Every day she had the chance of being assassinated. A younger and better worker could come along and she would be next on the chopping block. The woman in the mirror glared at her and seemed to spit: you damn coward.

Her eyes moved away once again in embarrassment. She knew that this feeling inside of her was unreasonable but she could not stop it from festering. She began to think about Jennifer and her muffled screams as she struggled initially.

There was no elaborate fight or plan for that matter. Emma had simply broken into the woman's forty-fourth floor penthouse and held a pillow over her head.

She never really felt the need to be unnecessarily evil. Sure, if Jennifer had put up a fight then she would have made her wish she'd never lived. She was only sleeping and Emma knew there was no need to prolong her stay in the forty-fourth floor penthouse. So Emma had taken her gun and shot the woman through the pillow. She did not shoot her not once, not twice, but three times. Emma tended to hate the other mercenaries because she believed that they had evil hearts. They didn't care who they killed or why like she did. But now, whenever she looked at herself, all she saw was pure evil. This was not who she wanted to become or be.

She dared to steal a glance at the mirror once more and the twinge was back. The woman inside the glass still sported a stony glare, aimed directly at her. She rolled her eyes and thought, 'Well it's just me I'm looking at, isn't it?'

She dried her hands and exited the small bathroom. She felt the hard shell of the woman in the mirror mold over her own bones and skin, like a snake molting and renewing its skin. She refused to let anyone see her as the small girl outside of the mirror, even if it meant being forever trapped below the layers of the facade that she had fabricated over the years. As she walked down the empty hallway, she reached a simple conclusion and there was a thought that haunted her as she left the small bathroom.

Perhaps it was simply the woman in the mirror who did not know herself anymore.
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