The Dying Of The Light

• Henry Campbell, Grade 10, St Mary's Catholic College
• Short Story
• 2015

Excellence Award in the 'The Write Track 2015' competition

Dusk, a golden sun setting on the horizon, streaks of warm light, reaching up in a last ditch attempt to stay visible. It was warm, for now. The dying of the light was about to begin.
However, it seemed that the light was not the only thing dying tonight.
As Agent Locke was lying on his back, surrounded by men looking down at him, all he could do was think. As he pondered over the events of the last week, he realised how much of a turning point it had been.
He was not angered by what was happening to him, nor was he upset. He realised that his hand was clutching the locket his mother had given him the day he was born. The first and last time he saw her.
****
One hour earlier
As Agent Locke stood, looking through the two way mirror into the surgical-white coloured room, his mind pondered what he knew. To the World, Trispect Corporation was a respectable pharmaceutical research company, helping to fight the recent outbreak of a disease which still remains nameless. It was the same disease that killed Locke’s mother. So far, all that was known was that it only affected women and only became active during childbirth. Trispect was the World’s leading researcher in the field and had made leaps and bounds in a short time. As far as the World was concerned, it was due to their ability to grow the disease outside of a human body in large numbers, giving them the ability to study it.
But that was simply not true and Agent Locke was watching the real process at that very moment.
His official job title was internal Affairs Agent’, but what he actually did was stop the secrets from getting out, by any means necessary. Really, he was a glorified hitman and he liked that. Already this week he’d had to track and drag back an escaped test subject and silence a whistle blower.
But no matter how hard Trispect tried, the secrets were getting out and the whistle had become a fog horn.
Locke had no idea how long he had been standing there when he heard a voice.
“Agent Locke, your presence is required on the helipad. You have 5 minutes.”
Without a word Locke turned, pushed past the small suited man who had spoken and moved to the elevator. He no longer wanted to watch what was happening in the test lab anyway.
When he reached the helipad atop of floor 36, Locke was greeted by a lovely group of Trispect’s finest tactical response team, submachine guns raised. Locke knew what was happening. He was a dispensable asset and Trispect was obviously cleaning house with an external investigation imminent and inevitable.
As the bullets flew, Locke wasn’t angry. Locke lay on his back, the golden fingers of light caressing his face, a helicopter hovering above and several black clad figures looking down at him. Locke realised that the light wasn’t the only thing dying tonight.