Ginny: A Short Story

“Poison?” she gasped. Ginny St. Clare looked at the man before her. Had he really poisoned her? Yes, she decided about the man in the dark business suit in her kitchen, who had offered to buy tiger-shaped pendant rumored to be a treasure map. He had tried to get her arrested a lot than she had done. He had harassed, cajoled, bribed and promised, but she had never parted with her link to sanity. “It will be mostly a quiet death,” He stated. “Your organs will begin to shut down. I have tried to time it so you will drift off to death. I would take a sleeping pill tonight. It will make things easier. And it isn’t traceable to me.” Ginny sank into to seat adjacent to her little table. The man crossed his arms and leaned against the cabinet. Although the physically distance was mere feet, the gape felt like heaven and hell to Ginny.

I have an antidote” Although, Ginny blinked at the man her mind saw the white and black tiger and the wrinkle hands that had given it to her, the only person who had ever made her feel loved, the one that handed her hand when she tried to slit her wrist. She had envied his faith, in God, in Goodness. Ginny lived by the lesson Kenneth had taught her: act with goodness first, that removal of temptation was more effective than will power, happiness is an internal state. “No.” It equaled death either way, and she would rather just go to sleep. His smile told her he didn’t believe. He took a card out of his pocket and laid it on the counter. “Call me when you change your