He is towering, and rather handsome. Strands of his black hair hang in front of his narrow face like vines on a tree, with swift effortless motions of his hand, they are combed back to the side. Some say he has a focused look, the enticing look he has at this very moment. His eyes, as green as life itself, holding an angry victim. His small, soft pink lips moving ever so slightly when he opens them to speak.
He is shielded by his oak wood desk, which held a small cup of black inked pens, and a small shelf with a few papers. His hands lie in front of him, fingers laced like a shoe.
He cleared his throat before he beckoned me over. I slowly, hesitantly, walk and sit in the cheaply-made chair that stands in front. I swallow hard and nervousness takes me captive, my stomach pinching, and the slight feeling that I might throw up.
He looks at me for what felt like hours before he opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out a pile of papers, which he quietly places on the desk before him. He flips through the papers, reading what he wants to read, information that was critical at that time. The office was quiet, a bit too quiet for my likings. I sit there, bouncing my leg and the sound of the clock slowly ticking, drilling more nerves into me
Tick. Tick. Tick.
He then looks up, his narrow face a blade cutting through what little confidence I have left.
"So tell me," he says in a low deep voice as he looks back at the paper, then again at me, "Mrs. White, what makes you eligible for this," he stretches the "S" as he pauses, then takes a breath, "operation?"
"You see, Mr. Brute, I believe this corporation, could use some," I look around as fear grabs at my throat, "Lightening up."
He sits up a little, intrigued in where this simple conversation is going. "Much like your... attire?"
I glance down at my white dress that hugs my shape, and light crème high heels, realizing I stand out from the dark shadowed building. Everything in this very room is a black or dark brown. I glance around a little before I look back at Mr. Brute, "Everything is so... dark, so dead."
He leans in closer, a grin crawling up his porcelain skin, making the ecstasy of the room dark, and rather scary.
"That's what we do, Mrs. White. We kill people. Hell, we have been doing that for years." He chuckles at the word hell as if its something fun to play with.
"My heavens, Mr. Brute! What on God's earth do you mean by that?" My nerves tug and pull, scared of what the man in front of me will do, what the Devil inside might say.
"You see, we get good people," he says as he makes a circle with his hands, "we tell them what they want to know, give them what they want, make them follow us." As expands his hands, making the circle bigger, his finger tips touch. "Then we take a way little stuff at a time, first their home, then their car," he slowly brings his hands closer together, the fingers sliding through each other, the circle growing smaller, "their families, their rights, their hopes and dreams. We create this monster inside of them, this thing that wants to be freed from the skinned cage they live inside; the human they are trapped inside."
I feel my heart start to pound, my breath grows faster and faster and fear has now gripped my neck, and is pulling the air out from my lungs. The fire starts and I am being burned alive in the presence of this man. He smirks as the smell of fear fills his nose and like an animal he wants to attack. My hands hold my knees like they are victims in my body's own prison.
"What's the matter, Mrs. White? You seem scared."
I clear my throat and catch a breath of air. "What happens to these creatures? What do they do?"
"They kill. You see, Mrs. White," he says as he stands up and walks around the desk to me. "There is just too many damn people on this filthy planet, so our jobs is to help... eliminate the problem. You see, there are nearly 8 billion people on this tiny planet, so we create monsters. That's all. Just... monsters. They then create crime, spread lies, and terror groups. Though the population is still growing, we are doing our best to help control it. We created monsters who created homosexual people who didn't create their own, and those that did... we took care of it with a wonderful disease." He slowly walks behind me, placing his firm but cold hands on my shoulders, and leans over, placing his death filled lips next to my ear.
"We both know what I am, what you are, and I believe with your help, we can accomplish that goal. You see, your father owns a corporation that makes more and more people and animals, while mine makes more and more monsters inside of them, we are hand in hand, yet haven't fully reached each other, with your help Mrs. White, we can do that."
I slowly stand up, wiping the midsection of my dress, and turn around to face the Devil himself. Though, he isn't what I excepted to see, he isn't a red man with a tail. He doesn't have a long fearful beard. There is no horns protruding from his head. My father created him, and even though he has fallen, he is beautiful, elegant, and filled with manners. His attire is appropriate, and fits a man with power.
"You see, Mrs. White, I don't only create monsters in man, I destroy a small amount of what your father has created. I've created earthquakes, hurricanes, tornadoes. I've made illness and disease. I've created cancer, polio, small pox, I've created mental illnesses, suicide, rage. I've created a... sustainable corporation, for say, and with your fathers touch, I could... improve.
He says that word so sour, so grotesque, the though of what he means by "Improve" sicken me. Though at the same time, his points do come across, what he says makes sense to me, and I'm not the one to disappoint. I slowly walk up to Mr. Brute, swift and effortlessly, and place my finger under his chin.
"I guess we will just have to see what my father has to say about this plan of yours," I say as I flick my finger and walk out of the door, "You know where to find me, and if you do something, make it look like an accident."