A "vertical slice" of fiction.
Seasons
She pulled the curtains apart with a flourish, the heavy material rustling and ruffling to the sides. It was perhaps the warmest day since before winter and, aside from a handful of white wisps of cloud, the sky was a deep, light blue. It was hard not to feel motivated and energised by the weather (aside from the growing physical haze that is hayfever), but there wouldn’t be an opportunity to take the time to enjoy a day such as this. Important work was at hand, started, but not completed.
She turned away from the window and assessed the tied up couple on the bed. They were rather dishevelled, having attempted escape a number of times, and were trying to talk to her. It was impossible to understand them however, she had stuffed their mouths with socks and taped them shut.
It was a sordid business, this, but she was highly skilled, and very well compensated for services. For a moment she considered that she didn’t even know who this couple was, or even what they had done to require her enlistment.
But that wasn’t her problem, nor was it something she cared about.