British Indian Shanti Dynamite 3

"They threw his body over board." There was a smile on his face under the bag I was sure. I looked up at the Commander he nodded again. I took my Air Force Pilots Survival knife and cut his throat just a hard and deep as I could. If he didn't suffocate from a blocked airway, he was going to bleed out in a under a minute. I didn't meet anyones eyes as I walked from the room and threw up out the back door."Sylvia, what to you think about driving his body to the garage and dump him there. When they come out to look, we go in fast and dirty," he asked. Drive the van right through the front doors. We can go out the back doors." I want you to dump the body, then drive around the block and cover the back door. Kill any son of a bitch who comes out." The commander said to me."No, I will dump the body. I will move car to the rear door it, then assault the back door while you go in the front. Don't shoot anyone in a ski mask," I suggested."Did you all hear that. No one who is alive in there,. I was allowed to look: she was teacher. She stood at the front of the class, twisting herself into a series of crazy postures, which we all struggled vainly, flabbily, to copy. She was perfect. We trembled before her perfection – three old ladies, a skeletal teenager, and me. She didn’t seem to notice us: it was as if we were viewing her own private ritual. I stood at the back of the class and stared unashamedly. The whole hour, I gazed at her, willing my miserable self to copy her effortless grace. I took in every detail, drinking her in. The stark bones at her collar and wrists, the arch of her spine, the firm, pink nipples that grazed her t-shirt. She barely spoke as she moved: her few words sounded like a lullaby. “Deep breath…suck your belly in…drop your shoulders, relax your neck, your face, tilt your pelvis…” I did all she told me: willed my limbs to mirror hers. Week by week, they started to respond. I barely noticed. I only watched her. But she saw it, saw me, and started to.
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