Jesters Do Oft Prove Prophets - William Shakespeare

They call me Poppin, Poppin the fool. But I don't take offense for it's the truth. A wicked grin spread on my face, though it was hidden beneath

the cold hard plaster of my mask. A simple jester is all they see, those ignorant citizens of Italy. It is they who are the fool. They do not see

the wickedness that lay right before their noses. Who would suspect I of such treason?

No one would, at least not anyone in their right mind. Those who accuse me of such are instantly tossed aside. Many would argue, "Why

would someone as joyful hearted and lively do such a thing? What could they gain from this felony?" What would I gain? Nothing, absolutely

nothing. Except the thrill that often came from cheating death, or the satisfaction of knowing that I once again tricked the ones who placed

themselves so highly above me.

With a quick snap of my wrist, the body tumbled to the floor. The once wide brown orbs overflowing with fear were now void of life and the

breath was still. With a cheeky smile I reached into his money pouch and emptied its contents into the pink flesh of my palm before moving to the

next corpse. Its body laid in the same twisted position, blood seeping to the floor from the wounds in the back of its head.

If I said I didn't enjoy this, I'd be lying. The way the light left their eyes as their heart finally stopped beating, their dying breath sent shivers down

my spine, to my toes, and up again. It was so surreal, almost beautiful. No one ever understands the beauty in it though, all they see is death;

gruesome, bloody death.

A light knock behind me awake me from my dream like trance and I was forcibly thrust back into reality. I sprinted to the only open window, the slight

chime of my bells made me feel giddy as I launched myself out and down to the crowded streets of Venice. Landing with a soft plop in a discarded

bale of hay, I waited for the moment the servant would walk into the room and notice my art.

'One,' I though routinely. 'Two,' A sinister grin spread across my features as a blood curling scream filled the street. 'Three.'


This was the beginning to my NaNoWriMo story that I set down and never picked up again, which explains the shortness of it all :P

It's loosely based on Assassin's Creed II (surprisingly not a love story)

Tell me what you think :) What can I improve on or work on?

Should I continue this or just let sleeping doges lie?