Cold is Good
You walk quickly, face bent down, hands in your pockets, your high-heeled boots click-clacking along the pavement. Ah, winter, your favourite time of the year. Cold and unforgiving, without a hint of mercy. Feeling poetic, you pause to look around. Wintery trees stand as ballet dancers poised to show the world their grace, strength showing in how they remain so still in the seasonal gusts. Now that the leaves have fallen, they are so proud, as if their silvery-brown skin was their glory all along. You lift your head into the wind, eyes open for this strikingly icy evening. Cold is good.
You enter a dark alleyway, meaning to take a shortcut on your way to your apartment when you see a man huddled against the wall, smoking. Your eyes lock on his watery black irises, drooping beard and greasy brown hair and you smile to yourself. Target acquired. Hello Mr Harry Murphy. You glance around to make sure there are no witnesses and without missing a beat, you curl your hand into a fist and aim for the front of his nose. Your fist connects with the bridge of his nose and sends him reeling backwards. His blood splatters on the cobblestones as you grab him by his collar and fling him against the wall.
The man cries and pleads. His voice twitches.“Please don’t kill me, I have a wife and child...”
You meet his eyes and smile, baring your teeth as you plunge your emerald dagger in his chest and quickly withdraw it, stabbing again and again with brutal efficiency until he falls to the ground. “I-,” he says. “I-.” He opens his mouth wide and there comes a foreign noise from deep within his insides, as though a solid piece of him has cracked or popped. You hold your hand to his chest and feel his heart flutter and stop. A column of air pushes from his mouth and as his body lurches and grows still, you know that this is where the clock stops for Harry Murphy.
In one fluid movement, you wipe your dagger on his clothes and tucking it back in its sheath, you walk away, now making your way towards the local Chinese Restaurant. You order Chowmein with Chinese stew and as you dig into your food, you remember the light leaving the man’s eyes as he died and you smile. Pathetic mortal.
Finishing your food, you make your way back home and start reading. A few hours pass and you get up from the dingy bathroom floor, slamming your “Atlas of Human Anatomy” shut. Glancing at the clock, you gasp, it’s midnight and you need some rest before the journey tomorrow. Ah, the last job before you finally relaxed. You couldn’t wait to start packing and get your final task done, but first... some sleep.
Guys this is the first story that I’m publishing and I’m nervous because I don’t even know if it’s good or not. If it’s bad, please tell me and I will stop writing and if it’s good, you guys can tell me and I’ll write more. I appreciate your constructive criticism and any corrections or suggestions to improve my work are appreciated as well.
