Hitman
The clock struck one. Frost slid through my tight, blistered lips as I surveyed the littered streets, which lay before me. The silent wind ruffled my hair. I slid across the rooftop and searched for my target. I could see the manor, a miniscule point in the distance, beaming at me through eyes of glass, beckoned for me to come near. I obliged of course by peering through my binoculars. Warm light floated out of the windows, wrapping my soul in its tender clasp.
Then I saw her. Her hair glistened with warmth and her smile illuminated my heart. I watched as she sat daintily upon a chair, fragile like a piece of china. Her once taut fingers relaxed and curled around the oak armrests as she sank into plush burgundy leather. She allowed herself to be caressed by the warm and gentle finger that reached out from the depths of the hearth.
I felt a sudden rush of hatred. The fire that had once caressed me was now taunting me by caressing her. It laughed at me with its warm glow. It had what I wanted and held her with its fierce grip. She shifted her head slightly, scattering golden showers over the antique portraits. I watched for a few moments more, willing myself to get a grip. Time did not grow on trees.
I released the crumpled photograph from my grip and analyzed it professionally. The image was black & white, faint and wrinkled but there was no mistake. Her image shone through from behind the glossy prison.
I crept through the shadows towards my box of death and released the ornate silver buckles to reveal the true love of my life, my dark lady! I carried her over to the ledge and stroked her passionately, massaging her joints, putting her together. She glowed with passion and jealousy as I put my eye to hers. We became one as we focused on the window; she was still there, bathing in her lovers clasp.
We slowly crept towards her, her face illuminated as our jealousy burnt. My lady clasped my fingers around her slender form and squeezed them. I tried to resist but she had experience. She had done this before. My fingers responded to her wild animal calls of jealousy, urging me to keep on pressing, to squeeze harder.
Not yet! Not yet! I cried, but it was too late. The force of our emotions shot through the flimsy protection the window offered and knocked the sleeping beauty over. Life drained out of her and liquefied on the floor. The warm glow that had once been there evaporated through the shattered window and all that was left was a cold, blank lifeless room.
The dark heat of pain shot through my body and warmed the frost under my feet. My lady winked at me as she returned to the murky depths of her coffin. I would always have her.
As I left I dropped the wrinkled picture over the ledge. It didn't matter anymore.
An assassin's life is not an easy one. I have been doomed to a life of loneliness and seclusion. The job requires a heart of steel but that does not necessarily mean that I don't have a heart. My heart beats the same as every other man. Maybe my heart will soften the next time.
Just maybe…