Raven black, is the shade of the darkness on a wintry Venetian night. Below me the streets are alive. Bodies everywhere, intertwined, as if they were one large conglomerate of like minds. The sight reminded me oddly of ants scurrying about. I was perched high above the city in a tiny crevice, of a large marvel of architectural prowess. The sound of seagulls and the smell of fish drifted past me, carried by the wings of the crispy sea breeze... The Moon, a speck of light that fought off the darkness was again my only companion, and the bright green spots that littered the sky, fireflies I assumed, almost made me forget my task.
The crowd had disseminated, returning to their various anthills... There he stood. Double chin, red face, his body was round and his ankles swollen from carrying his excessive mass. His walk seemed unnatural, lopsided; maybe an attempt to ease the strain on his inflamed ankles. Water seemed to manifest from every fissure in his body, the water was salted as it was later confirmed to be sweat. It trickled down his face, giving it an aberrant gleam that reflected the light.
A sharp cold object, curved at an angle of a Crescent Moon. The blade so thin, as if the blacksmith had been short of steel. Double edged and lightweight, perfect for killing from a distance. My other instrument of death, a long single edged straight blade, that was sheathed in a dark brown scabbard. Finally, lightweight armour to to traverse the shady rooftops of Venice.
I step into the cold air, and am jolted to full awareness because of its temperature. My muscles are stiff, they have been crouched for far too long and my calves burn so ferociously it was as if Hades was at my heels .My target approaches and adrenaline starts to slowly seep into every fibre of my body. My pupils are now fully dilated and my hearing is as acute as a wolf’s, the loneliness suiting me perfectly. The pain and stiffness in my body is now non-existent as I prepare to jump and execute my target.
“Doof, doof, doof”. The sound of footsteps on a roof. My mind starts to race, as it attempts to find the source of the noise. Then. “Fwack, tang”, an arrow misses my face by a hairs breadth and embeds itself into the wall next to my face. Before my mind registers it, the thin blade has taken flight, the familiar coldness of the steel no longer present in my sweaty palm. It moves with speed and accuracy, the steel shining like the teeth of a bloodthirsty bat. I could hear the crunch of his skull against the force of the blade. Liquid trickles down my check... The arrow had actually grazed me.
My calves push my body away from the building and if I were a mortal, I would have certainly died thrice over from the fall, but my wings even darker than the night slow my descent as I land in front of the man. His red faced suddenly goes pale and he starts to mutter prayers. But it’s futile. My Scythe rises from the ground beside me. I touch the handle and the illusion of skin fades away.
I stood before him, a skeleton in a black hood... His final words were “what are you”, and I answered him by taking his soul...
© Copyright 2016 Ona. All rights reserved.
Essay / Other
Miscellaneous / Romance
Short Story / Horror
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