It was early evening. The gentle sunlight that caressed Dublin had long since faded away over the distant mountains, and across the sea. Peaceful Dublin gone with it. Back to this damned war stricken, peace starved oblivion, John though to himself.
Through the city, heavy guns roared, breaking the silence, bringing John back to himself. Sometime I wonder if being a Free State spy is worth this, being dragged out of bed at this late hour. But john knew even if he wanted to, he could leave, he was their best spy. He could, can, and probably will be anyone, anywhere, at anytime.
For his current assignment, he was dressed as an elderly woman.
A long shawl taper over his slick brown hair, his body was dressed in rags. Hunched over a walking stick and taking short steps, he appeared to be nothing more than the elderly wowan he intended to be.
Around the next corner, he heard rifles. Must be getting close.
Across the street perpendicular to his own, he spotted his objective. An armored car, which he was to deliver vital information to. He looked up. He saw the rooftop where an enemy sniper lay. Just as he was told.
He hobbled toward the armored car, picking up speed as to be caught between a sniper and it's target.
He reached the car, quickly repeating what he was told in the telegram he received early that very night, pointing up to the roof that the sniper lay.
Suddenly, a shot rang out. The man in the armored car fell heavily onto the turret. He ran. Maybe out of fear, he ran faster than ever before. Another shot. This time it planted itself into John himself. His hands crossed over his chest, where he had been shot. He whirled around. The dark city became a blur. His short 34-year-old life flashed before his eyes. Then he fell. He fell into the cold, wet gutter below.
