A Spy's Story
A Spy's Story
“Look at that man in the blue suit. He is too insane for a party.” I heard someone whispering to someone at my back.
I looked around and found the man, he was talking about. One of the buttons on his blazer was quite different as if it was a spy camera. I got suspicious about the deeds of the man. Everything he was doing seemed fishy to me.
After all, why would someone suit up for a party thrown by the Cine arts Academy winner director, Chris Jacobs, known for his films on social and political issues?
My eyes were following the man where ever he went as I was appointed by him as a measure to spy the success party for his last film on the refugees. Finally, I got the opportunity to interrogate him alone. I followed him to restroom and as he was about to close the door, I stabbed it, enter the room and locked it.
I held him from his collars. Before I could ask him anything, loud sounds of the guns shocked us. The man fainted.
I put him down on the commode and tried to understand the situation. The sounds disappeared as swiftly as it began.
I came out with my gun ready to fire. The scenario of the party hall was horrible. The air was thick with the pain of the cadavers lying on the floor and the smoke coming from the machines destroyed by the guns.
I inspected whole hall but there was no one alive including Chris. I ran again to the restroom where the man was still lying. I threw some water on his face but I realized he was dead. I searched his pockets and in one of them, I found a picture of Chris red circled and a gun in his back pocket. I also found an injection which possibly was the reason of his death. But the scandalous discovery was the star mark on his gun and bullets which is only found on the weapons of the state special forces.
I called Jake if he and his gang killed Chris and the suspicious man as planned but he refused and told me that they were about to leave when I called him. He was happy to hear that what we planned happened without us being involved but I was not satisfied.
I made marks on my body as if I survived the catastrophe and called police as the spy who I was pretending to be.
As the investigation was carried on, no one suspected me or Jake for his murder. We were then confident enough about our fortune.
But today we got a text which read—
“Sometimes truth lies just before your eyes but you cannot recognize it. Fictions become fact and facts become fiction. Your truth can be someone’s fantasy. Just like someone’s death is your fantasy and his life is his truth,”