#readingme

At 2200 hours the streets were buzzing with laughter and song. A mostly undressed mass of people moved towards the city square for the big finale of a week of drunkenness, sex, sore throats and dancing. With the streets overcrowded, he knew the job wouldn’t be easy, but he liked the challenge. He liked the thrill of hitting his target and moving on, while chaos took over behind him, but he never really moved on. He had a thing for getting up close, for seeing the light fade out of his victim’s eyes.   

Tom Grayson was the best there is at this job, and he knew that. Confidence in his work and abilities made him rich, and feared. He liked that too. There is nothing better in this world than to be feared; only then can you be sure that no-one will plant a knife in your back - because if you go, the world goes with you.

Tall, purple-haired and with contacts that made his eyes resemble two black holes, Tom Grayson sat on the edge of a rustic building with a clear view of his target – a fake blond wig (that resembled a bird’s nest more than anything else one might call hair) sitting on a chubby, middle-aged man in a nice, fairly-expensive suit.  He’d taken the job before the proposal was fully outlined. Only the mention of the target’s name made Tom’s lips twist in satisfaction; in his mind, the target was already neutralized.

Lady Emily, the only woman in Tom’s life (and his sniper), fell into his arms perfectly. He curled his fingers around her thin, cold body, pushing her hard against his chest. He whispered to her and she whispered back.  She truly was one of a kind. Gently gliding his finger up and down the trigger, Tom Grayson’s lips twisted again; but this was not an ordinary grin, this was nothing like the satisfied grin he made when he got the call.  This time it was a mixture of anger and pure lust.

He took out the bullet to see it once again. His engraved message shined under the dim carnival lights. Goodnight.  He kissed his baby and put it back into place.

The right moment came seconds later. With the first screams of the crowd, as a pool of blood flooded from that fairly-expensive suit, Tom Grayson was already downstairs, headed to his victim.

Eyes still open, light reflecting dimly, filled with fear and surprise, the old man sat naturally. If not for the pool of blood, no-one would have noticed he was gone. The thing is, Tom Grayson liked to show off, and this was one piece of art he was especially proud of.