Twilight Zone | A Song/Short Story

There’s a song by Golden Earring, called Twilight Zone. It tells a story about a spy who, well, sort of dies, but they don’t make any details clear. Basically, he or she is double crossed by their employer and can’t quite make things right.

It’s a awesome song and whenever I listen to it, I imagine this story of my own in my head. Today I finally wrote it down.

I was leery of publishing it. It is NOT the sort of thing I usually write, nor is it in any way happy. That’s why it has a read more thingy.

Mind you, someone does die in the song so… you know. This is NOT a cheerful short story in any way, not is it really logical or written with regard to how government agencies really work. It’s not too long, considering it’s me who wrote it and the song is like 10 minutes long.

It’s not even really very good. But I’ve decided to publish it anyway, rather then have it disappear in Google Docs like most everything else I write, lost forever.

Song/Band: Twilight Zone, Golden Earring

Lyrics are italicized

Special Agent Snow of the CIA stood in a back ally, badge and gun on hand, toe to toe with a well known hit-man- but he wasn’t taking him in. Instead, he handed a folder to the man and said, “Don’t get me involved, and if you get caught, it’s on you. But I want you to acquire the asset… and I want her gone.”

The man thumbed it open, glancing at the top page: Special Agent Mira Colburn, #14, currently on an assignment to retrieve a certain asset. He glanced up at Agent Snow. “Consider it done.”

Mira Colburn, disguised as a chauffeur, pulled a black limo into a gated community of hotels. She snuck into one of them, and found herself leaning on a wall outside a certain number of room- 509. She glanced at her orders one more time- eradicate the threat and retrieve the asset.

She busted open the door and shot the asset-carrying fellow inside.

Somewhere in a lonely hotel room there’s a guy starting to realize eternal fate has turned its’ back on him. It’s 2AM….

Mira shot the man point blank, and as per orders, used her watch communicator to contact her handler- but she got nothing. No sound came through, though she tried several times. Glancing at the watch part of it she saw she was right on time to make contact.

It’s 2AM, the fear is gone, I’m sitting here waiting, the gun’s still warm…

She muttered to herself, “Maybe my connection is tired of taking chances.”

She stood up to try the rotary phone on the desk, grabbing the asset- a small black book with US Military secrets scrawled inside- from the man on the floor’s pocket. She held the phone to her ear and received a steady tone; she followed the wire with a free hand and found it to be cut.

There’s a storm on the loose, sirens in my head

Wrapped up in silence, all circuits are dead

She glanced out the window to see several obvious hit-men watching her just as the lights went dead. The next thing she knew, she was scrambling for safety as the room was riddled with machine gun fire.

Cannot decode, my whole life spins into a frenzy…

Help I’m stepping into the twilight zone, place is a madhouse, feels like being cloned

My beacon’s been moved under moon and star

Where am I to go now that I’ve gone too far?

She dashed down the fire escape at the end of the hall and darted through the hotel community, dodging bullets. She took one to the upper right arm, but the lone man left chasing her was downed by her bullets by the end of it all, and she escaped into the night.

Soon you will come to know… when the bullet hits the bone…

Two days later she stood leaning against a brick building watching some hired men look for her around a corner, a crude bandage tied around one arm. How had they known where she was? They were after her- after the asset, which she still had, as per orders. She didn’t know what was happening, who was after her, or where her people were, but she knew she had to guard that book with her life.

I’m falling down a spiral, destination unknown

A double-crossed messenger, all alone

She tried her watch communicator for the thousandth time and was yet again met with silence.

I can’t get no connection, can’t get through,

She leaned her head against the wall, murmuring to herself, “Where are you?”

Well the night plays heavy on their guilty minds, this far from the border line…

She saw the men becoming agitated, looking for her. She tried to sneak closer to get a better look but they saw her first, and the next thing she knew, she was being manhandled by two men in black. They found the asset, tossing it to their boss before one of them began dragging her off down an ally.

She could just see the scene unfold as she watched from the corner of her eye- the moment he got the asset, gunfire erupted from the windows of the buildings surrounding them.

When the hit man comes, he knows damn well he has been cheated…

And he says,

Help, I’m stepping into the twilight zone, place is a madhouse, feels like being cloned

My beacon’s been moved under moon and star

Where am I to go now that I’ve gone too far

In the confusion, she managed to break away from the man and was just in time to watch him fall to a bullet as she darted away, hotwiring a car- a small red convertible- and getting out of there as quickly as possible… minus the asset.

Soon you will come to know… when the bullet hits the bone.

It must have been a week later that Mira, in her now somewhat ragged chauffeur’s uniform, driving a now dusty stolen convertible, located the remaining men of the ones who attacked her- who were also attacked. She’d had time to think, and she knew what’d happened- and she was mad.

She drove into the middle of one of their meets, flaunting her little red handgun.

“Hey boys,” she said. “Hands up.”

Some obliged while their leader said, “Go for your guns- she can only shoot one of us!”

“You’re the one,” she warned.

“Hands up,” amended the leader. “What do you want?” he asked of her.

She leaned against her car, speaking casually. “Someone hired your boys to take me out, and I know who it was. Funny thing is, that someone is my employer.”

“You work for the government,” sneered the man.

“Exactly.” She said. “And they tried to kill me. They hired your men to do it, and then they tried to kill you. You know why? It’s that little black book. They’re killing everyone that comes into contact with it… or trying to.” She smiled at them. “You might think I have a death wish, but I want that thing back. Now.” She glanced down at her arm. “Plus, I do have a little grudge against one of you for this.”

They went for their guns as the man returned, “I can assist my people with the secrets in this book- your government and it’s sick wished be darned.”

She dove behind the car for cover, and after a short exchange of fire, she emerged victorious. The only two men standing slowly backed away, guns on the ground.

The leader of the two tossed her the asset. “What are you going to do?” he asked.

She caught it. “I’m going after my handler. He crossed me, and he’s gonna pay.”

“They will kill you.” He said.

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” she said, as she leaped into the car and took off.

Help, I’m stepping into the twilight zone, place is a madhouse, feels like being cloned

My beacon’s been moved under moon and star…

Two nights later, she burst into the room where her handler was, gun at the ready. “You betrayed me! You turned your back on the person who depended on you for what? For an extra paycheck? For brownie points from a crooked superior?”

The man didn’t have the words to answer her- but she didn’t really want to hear it. She shot him.

Where am I to go now that I’ve gone to far?

Out on the street, a young woman- Polly McPhearson, was driving by in her Evening Gazette News car when she heard a gunshot. Fearless reporter she was, she grabbed her recorder and rushed to the open window of the building it came from, listening and recording.

Mira knew she’d have to get out of there quickly, but as she turned to go, she heard a voice behind her. “Drop it, Colburn… or shall I say, Agent 14?”

It was her superior, Agent Snow.

Help I’m stepping into the twilight zone, place is a madhouse, feels like being cloned

My beacon’s been moved under moon and star

She turned slowly, and the minute she saw him, she knew. She knew this was all his fault- and she knew she had to try.

Where am I to go now that I’ve gone too far?

Even as he was saying, “I’m sorry, but this is the way it has to be. If the world knew who I was selling those secrets to I’d be bad off. I had to get them back when they were stolen. I couldn’t risk it.” Even as he was saying this, she was raising her gun.

Even as she was raising her gun, she knew this was going to be it. She wasn’t going to make it.

Soon you will come to know… when the bullet hits the bone…

She felt the fire in her chest and she felt herself falling, but she never felt anything more.

Soon you will come to know… when the bullet hits the bone…

Polly stood frozen outside the window, before running to the nearest phone booth and dialing 911.

A short while later, Polly stood against her news vehicle, watching as this Agent Snow fellow was cuffed and led away looking dour, and a body bag was wheeled from the scene. The “asset” had been destroyed.

Soon you will come to know….. when the bullet hits the bone…

A policeman came up to her with a small shoe-box. “The deceased was Mira Colburn, a government agent. She lived alone in a by-the-week motel paid for by the CIA.” He held out the box. “This is what was in there.”

Polly took the box slowly. “Shouldn’t this go to her family or friends or…?”

The man just shook his head. “She didn’t have any. Someone who cares somewhat should get them, rather than just throwing them away. Since you’re the only other person around….figure you may as well have it.” He nodded to her and walked off.

She looked up at the men loading the black bag into a truck and looked down at the box in her hands, before putting it into her car and driving back to her office.

When the bullet hits the bone… ahhh, when the bullet hits the bone…
A few days later, after everything had calmed down, she sat at her desk, in the newspaper office after dark, working late again. The newspaper with the story on the agent who was murdered by her own country was spread in front of her, and she was looking at the things in the box. She saw a few toiletries, a necklace, a badge, some papers, and a photograph. It was the woman, Mira, with a man, who according the back of the photo was deceased. In it, they were holding a bouquet of waterlilies and smiling as big as could be.

Yeah, you will come to know, when the bullet hits the bone….

She couldn’t stand it anymore. She left work with the photograph and within the hour was walking through the cemetery. She came to the grave marked only by a cross with the words “Mira Colburn, birth date unknown, died 1965” scrawled onto it in a careless hand.

She stood there for a while just looking at the photo in her hands, and then she laid a bouquet of waterlilies on the grave, and stood looking them as a single tear slid down her face.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered.

She turned to go, driving away into the night with the photo on the seat beside her.

In a quiet graveyard outside of town, a bouquet of waterlilies rustled in the quiet, silent wind.

All alone.


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