Rhonda
The call came at seven. His powerful voice startled her to a level of consciousness that allowed her to take him in. He had a favor to ask. She stumbled to the table and wrote the times down — the schedule for the day. It would be brutal. It had to be.
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He apologized for waking her, offering a future meeting over coffee and toast. “Thanks,” she managed without laughing at the implication.
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“Thank you indeed” she tells herself with barely awake eyes. She surrendered and crawled back into bed. Taking on the world requires rest. Noon would be a more appropriate time to rise for a girl who was going to be killing that night.
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But sleep eluded her as she thought about the last time she worked with Jon. The project involved a lot of downtime. Well, maybe not downtime but waiting in the shadows of an abandoned building. He kept fidgeting with a wood gadget no one could quite figure out, but the click became more familiar than his voice as the hours passed. The one time he spoke was in response to a conversation she was having with another colleague about the deterioration of the moral code and the loss of hope in something worthwhile. Certainly being in our business gives rise to questions about good and evil. This particular time we were discussing Nietzsche and his idea that “God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murders of all murders?” It’s not that Nietzsche didn’t believe in a God he just no longer saw God as a reliable source of any absolute moral principal.
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She pondered this thought sitting in the dark, thinking about why she was there and questioning her own belief system. It made for great fuel for the discussion why she felt some of Nietzsche’s reasonings were faulty. It was after one of these exchanges Jon stopped twisting the arm of the wood object and after what seemed minutes Jon broke the silence, “To contradict Nietzsche, how boldly delicious!”
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