Angelic Deviant



“How old?” I asked my driver.
“Twenty-six, sir.”
“Very interesting.” I remarked as we drove to the destined location. Her file read well, 5’ 6”, toned, fair white skin, perky little B-cup tits, fit; but not anorexic skinny. Add the red hair, and you have one amazing combination. There is one factor however, that singles her out from the rest of her counterparts, this delightful deviant is a mutant. She has one eye that is green, and one that is blue. The complexity of this woman astounds me, and I have yet to even meet her. What she did to end up in prison only adds to my growing list of infatuations with this girl.

I watched as my driver showed the guards all the necessary paperwork at the gates, easily obtained when you run a business like mine. They did the usual routine while they checked the papers, asking for my driver’s as well as my I.D., mirror-checking the underside of the car, and inquiring as to our intent at the prison.
“We’re reaching out to an old business client.” Was my driver’s response. Not entirely false, but not entirely the truth either, which is one of the many reasons why he is my driver.

“We’re here, sir.”
“Good, I was beginning to feel a bit cramped in here.” I joked, we’re in a limousine, it’s never cramped.
I walked through the gates and could instantly tell all eyes were on me. It’s not every day you get a man in an expensive-looking suit strolling through the prison, but under the ruse of business, it seemed only fit that I wear my business attire.

I was led by a very skeptical and heavy-set looking black woman guard to the holding cell where she was being held special for me. On my way by, I waved to the security in charge of the cameras; that was her cue to start looping the stream. You can buy just about anything these days, a security guards salary isn’t much. I was led through doorway after doorway with locks everywhere in-between, until we finally got there; death row.

It was probably most famously referred to as “The green mile”, but I like death row just as much, it fills the soul, if the accused has any left, with hopelessness. Exactly what I need for my job.
“Holding cell B6, do you want me in there with you sir?” The guard queried as she opened the door to the cell.
I turned and smiled at her, “No thank you, that will not be necessary.”
She looked at me with inquisitive eyes but left us alone, I sat down and waited until I couldn’t hear her footsteps to begin speaking.

She was seated on a bench, across from me, fiery red hair hanging in front of her face, but the skin on her arms and ankles was exposed. I spoke slowly, putting on a voice that hinted of sarcasm but was coated in sugar, like a vial of venom surrounded in amber.
“My, you’re even more beautiful than your files foretell.”
I noticed a slight change in her body position, but she continued to look down.
“You know you never can truly trust paper, after all, what is on paper is only what is put there by people, and we both know you can’t trust them either.”
Her head darted up, and I caught a glimpse of the eye, the green one, staring at me hatefully.
“Yes, I know, I know everything there is to know about you. But that, is why I am here.”
She stared at me now, head up, still hateful but now intrigued.
“I can either be a last singular beam of hope, or your final disappointment, the choice is yours.” I raised an eyebrow and pointed at her with clasped hands when I said ‘yours’.

Finally she spoke: “What choice?” She spit out the words, not wanting to believe me.
“I’m glad you asked. It’s simple really, it is the choice to live or die.”
She didn’t flinch.
“Don’t believe me? Or don’t want to believe me?”
She didn’t answer, but gave me a smug smile as a response.
“Fine, a demonstration perhaps?