Covert Ops, snip. Espionage, snip. Sabotage, snip. Assassination, snip.
I trim the leaves of my bonsi tree in meditation. Its my debriefing.
Agent Bowman, States: Partially intact, very fatigued.
Operation Frozen Grapes, States: Successful.
Bonsi tree, States: …Dry…
Dry like the crispy depths of my soul…
“I’m a bastard, my dear Bonsi.” My voice is gruff, dry throat.
I snatch up my dear Bonsi’s spray bottle and squeeze the trigger well aiming into my mouth. I drink down the cool mist. I’m thankful for it.
It reminds me of water torture… I wonder if the men I integrated were thankful for it?...
“Some for you, my dear Bonsi.” I Give a light misty squirt… My dear Bonsi? It’s thankful.
Some people think that having a Bonsi tree as a best friends is sad… I can’t help but
wonder what people would say if they knew
one was my soul mate.
It doesn’t Judge me for what I’ve done, who I am, and what I will do. Years of working for the agency as a Spy, as a SUPER spy, years of zero questions asked by my dear Bonsi.
I’ve killed dozens of men who never wronged me in anyway, I have contributed to the systematic destruction of entire nations, I have done great wrongs in the name of the Agency… and my Bonsi doesn’t care.
I confess to my dear Bonsi aloud every day all the wrongs I have done… and it listens, and loves me no matter what, under all conditions. It grows with me, and stays with me no matter what. My plant, my best friend, and occasional lover…
“I love you my dear Bonsi.” Snip.
A small dry leaf falls from a limb of my dear Bonsi. It flutters down slowly to the dirt, the soil of the pot landing near the base of the tree, my sight dose not follow it though. My eyes are stuck on the naked branch it fell from. The branch that holds the tiniest of microphones. A bug in my plant. A wire. My dear Bonzi was wearing a wire… For how long, I do not know, it doesn’t matter.
“What the hell!” I jump back screaming at my Dear Bonsi, my voice vibrates through the microphone, sending an electric signal to a device that sends a radio waves to near by listeners.
I pluck it from the branch, it bares the logo of my arch enemy terrorist organization S.E.R.P.N.T. I quickly smash it on the ground with the heel of my foot.
“You… betrayed me… why my dear bonsi?” I cry. “Why?... did I not treat you well?... Did I not love and care for you?”
My dear Bonsi sways for a moment in response. It’s a song and dance. Bullshit.
“I can not have this, I can not let you continue to grow.” I pull out a gun, that was sitting on layaway on the desk.
“I wish you to know, my dear Bonsi. I do this not simply because it is required of me by Agency regulation. But because I feel betrayed… And this is my vengeance.” I open fire on my dead bonsi. Bullets riddle through her leaves and branches, they cut down her stem, she falls to her side limp, top in the soil.
I whip my tears from my face well sliding out the empty clip of my pistol and fall into my chair. I stare at my dead bonsi for a moment, then look to my cactus and say, “Cactus my son… you didn’t see anything!”