Assassin - A short story

No fantasy this time...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Assassin

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Richard watched the building quietly. For four days now he had watched his target come and go. Tonight, for the first time, she had come back alone. Without any of the losers she seemed to prefer the company of, she only seemed more glorious. Long, sleek, raven-black hair cascaded down between her shoulders. Shoulders that, like the rest of her body, were wrapped tightly in a deep, crimson velvet. The colour reminded Richard of blood, fresh blood flowing freely from the clean cut of a sharp blade. She had disappeared inside. She would cross the marble-clad hallway to take one of the high-speed elevators. SixÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâæ fiveÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâæ fourÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâæ threeÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâæ twoÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâæ oneÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâæ His timing was perfect. The moment he reached zero the lights of the third apartment on the fifth floor lit up. She was home, she was alone. For a moment her lithe silhouette flitted across the closed curtains.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Richard brought his eye up to the scope and flicked a switch. A green haze passed over his vision. He needed a moment to adjust before he could take aim at the large window. Slowly he exhaled. His nerves were showing clearly in the slight shaking of his sights. He decided to give the diazepam tablets a few more minutes, even though he was sure that this time it wasn't just a physical tension. Thanks to the infrared he could watch his target even through the thick fabric of her closed curtains. She was sitting at the kitchen table, leaning forward slightly, probably reading something. His concentration began to slip, but a deep breath of crisp night air kept him focused, kept him sharp. A single motion, the slightest touch of his finger was all that stood between her and the sweet release only a bullet could offer. The motion, the mechanics behind it, it was all so simple and he had gone through them so many times. Pull the triggerÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâæ you need to pull the triggerÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâæ He really was losing his mind. He was talking to himself again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Amanda they called her. She who must be admired. It was a fitting name, even though it probably wasnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t the name given by her parents. Slowly Richard shifted the sights lower. A lot of people would be very disappointed if that face, carved out of the purest ivory, would be ruined by the careless leaden kiss of a bullet. Her chest then. Lungs or heart, the result would be the sameÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâæ Still, to harm such a beautiful body seemed sacrilege, even to a man who prayed only to himself. He could try a different approach. Poison. She would remain beautiful forever. Richard could see it now. An open casket funeral. An endless line of men weeping like children over the loss of their goddess, each and every one of them struggling to fight the urge to steal a kiss off the glorious corpse.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

No. DonÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t hesitate. This had to been done even if it would be a hundred times more difficult than all the others combined. The diazepam wasnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t working, his hands were still shaking. Slowly he reached down. The tripod unfolded with a dry click. The shaking lessened only slightly, just enough to make a noticeable difference. Richard looked back through the sites, taking aim at the window again. She was gone. He cursed loudly against the howling winds. Too slow. For the first time in his life he had hesitated, and it made him too slow. Still he waited. The cold night air gripped at him, but he couldnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t go back, not until he had done his job. He waited. Eventually she would show herself again. Time would stoke his determination. He would overcome his doubt.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then, Richard didnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t know how long he had waited, she reappeared again. The curtains to her bedroom window flew open. For a moment Richard was left breathless. She was beautiful. For the first time he could see Amanda like all the others could see her. A goddess. A goddess. He was going to kill a goddess. A goddess dressed in a white silk nightgown that flowed along with every curve of her body. A goddess that simply stood in front of her window and watched him. Richard realised she could see him. She was watching him. Daring him. Pull the triggerÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâæ Even though he had never heard her speak, he could hear her whispering to him. Pull the trigger. I dare you. The voice was a cold, distant whisper where he had expected the seductive tones of a divine woman. Something inside him snapped.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Richard never remembered flexing his finger, pushing back the trigger. The silencer left a silent whisper, a promise of oblivion that couldnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t even be heard over the winds that howled along the rooftops of the skyscrapers. Even though his hands were shaking, his aim at that split second was perfect. The gunpowder inside the shell combusted. The lead, propelled by the rapidly expanding gasses inside the barrel, sped forward, crossing the distance between the two buildings in a single breath. Shards of glass cascaded all around Amanda, and for the briefest moment she seemed even more of a goddess than before, emerging among a chorus of sparkling lights like Venus once did from the waves. Then came the bullet, utterly merciless. It pierced skin, bone, brain, bone and skin again before emerging on the other side. It sped on, stopping only when a wall of solid concrete blocked its path. Amanda seemed to take forever to sink to the floor. Richard couldnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t see the look on her face. She had no face. The calibre was large enough to assure that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It took two weeks for AmandaÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s body to be released by the police. The funeral was almost like Richard imagined it to be. The casket was closed, but everything else was there. No family. No friends. Just worshippers coming to say goodbye to their goddess.

I have to say, that was a very well written story. I enjoyed it. You could feel the emotion and the regret that the actual person might experience, that is always the best kind of writing. One of the few modern stories on this forum and very well written. The battle of one's own conscience is often harder than one with another being I suppose. Anyway, I liked it.

Yet another great story from necro. Should I just stop replying? My replies seem to be farily consistent where your stories are concerned.

Exelent story, may i reccomend that you become a proffesinal author, i have read worse published works.

An excellent story! Wow, there was really a lot of emotion going on there. The story made perfect sense too. And that really seems like the life of a hitman.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Performance: 10/10

yang_x_ying, We've been trying to get him to publish dreamweb BUT HE WON'T LISTEN!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

:D

yang_x_ying, We've been trying to get him to publish dreamweb BUT HE WON'T LISTEN!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

:D

;) I just threw him a list of publishers. Now he needs to find an agent. :P

 

yang_x_ying, We've been trying to get him to publish dreamweb BUT HE WON'T LISTEN!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

:D

;) I just threw him a list of publishers. Now he needs to find an agent. :P

Are you volunteering?

This story is no less then wonderful. I'm amazed.

 

 

yang_x_ying, We've been trying to get him to publish dreamweb BUT HE WON'T LISTEN!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

:D

;) I just threw him a list of publishers. Now he needs to find an agent. :P

Are you volunteering?

>.> If I had experience and was a known agent, maybe. I'm just another amateur writer. :(

sorry I don't know anyone either :(

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

P.S. Forsaken, I love your new sig but whose the guy?