He waited, patiently, for a target.
It was rare, many a night he’d end up leaving the city
without a single attack. But he knew that if he started to attack more, he’d be
noticed, he’d have to deal with authorities, and he had spent far too long
developing his tactics.
But tonight, a target appeared. Her makeup was ruined, her
dress damaged. A half-empty bottle of something strongly alcoholic yet sickeningly
sweet in her fist. She was softly crying as she staggered towards him.
He stepped out of the alleyway.
“Hello. God’s sent me to talk about your soul…”
No comments:
Post a Comment