Chasing time

A hand shifts a patch of leaves away, giving her the perfect view of the target. Its a pathetic sight, really. ‘Is it even sentient?’ Thorn thought to herself

Its body has rotted away, the creatures hobling on one leg, the other is no more than a stump, little worms and maggots peaking out of the bandages, blood soaks it. The bright pink of its skin is sagging, its color now dulled and spotted with black gouges, oozing, eating away at its body and soul. Its hair (displaying a bright blue) is tangled, matted.

It looks like it would collapse at any second, Thorn knew it wouldn’t, though. Thorn slips her mask further up the bridge of her nose. The smell is horrible; the smell of death.

Thorn held a vast constrast to this creature, though they were of the same species; atleast once they were, Thorn could hardly reconize this creature as one of her own, the only give aways being long pointy ears directed to the ground; the creature she stares at had lost part of one, along with their frames, though Thorn lacked the injuries and rot.

Dark green hair fell onto her face, Thorn swatted it away, its thick curls almost a forest of their own. Dropping her hand from the leaves to her holster, Thorn took out her weapon of choice: a pistol, perfect for taking down targets given to her. Taking a deep breath, she aimed. It hit square in the creatures chest.

The creature let out a gurgle, one of pain and madness. Thorn wanted so badly to cover her ears. The creature did not drop. Its eyes were unfocused one second, and pinpoint on hers the next. The creature raced to her, leaving a deep gouge before she could react. Thorn felt hot pain on her face. Her eyes were spared.

With one swift motion, Thorn kicked the creature to the ground. They both tumbled down, blood everywhere.

Noticing a sharp boulder, Thorn saw and took her opportunity. Taking the face of the creature, she smashed the back of its head into the rock. Its eyes buldged, deep cracks in what was left of its flesh, Thorn could see shattered bone, even some brain, which was a sickly shade of green.

Whatever this creature had been was long gone, no longer one of her own. Thorn got up, pulling out a camera, taking a quick picture. Blood smeared against it, and blood stained her hands. Not bothering to clean up the body, Thorn simply walked away.

She may have been the assassin, but it was the person who hired hers job to clean the corpse up.

Thorn scoffed.

Her black suit was no longer so dark, bright blood all over it. Her knee gaurds were shredded, her pointed feet slippery with blood.

Careful to not make any more of a scene, Thorn slipped out of the woods, sneaking back home to clean up the mess she made.

Thorn found herself scratching at the gash in her face, quickly snatching and squeezing her hand. Some of the creatures’ blood had gotten in the wound, seeped into the cut. Great. How was she going to hide this in public?

Of course, everyone around her might simply be too hungry or have enough problems of their own to notice.

By candlelight, she slipped into home. Turning on the lights would be a dead give away she was out past cerfew. No one dares upset the order. Not even an assassin.