The Assassin

Philip Samuel - 11 January 15

It was a cold bitter night. The usual hustle bustle of the city was slowly being replaced by a strange, deathly quiet. The eire silence was interrupted only by the occasional
shriek of an owl or the screeching of a car as it stopped dead.
The sniper kneeled down in preparation for his mission. He placed the briefcase in
front of him, as he delicately slid the lock and pried it open. Inside lay his prised No 10.
M24. His hands quivered in anticipation of as he laid down the parts in front of him. Insert the recoil spring. Assemble the top. Add to the frame. He enjoyed it. Add the recoil
spring to the frame. Snap. He had done this before. Add the main body and clip it to the
stand. Fill the magazine. He was here to collect yet another. Click. Magazine connected. It
was done.
He was in front of a dreary bock of flats in a particularly dreary part of Brooklyn.
Only the occasional lost car or drunk driver ever traveled this road at this time of night.
The desolate street was covered graffiti. The lights of the old drug store flicked and faded
and a plastic bag traversed through the street. The rain came again, pounding the black
tarmac like a hail of bullets.
An hour had passed. He could wait. Patience was required for a profession such as
his. He was one knee down gazing into his scope. It was raining. Good. Less people on
the street. His concentration never wavered. He never stopped watching. Blue car, Man in
suit, Post man, white truck. Light flicker leaf fall penny drop He never missed a
thing.

THE ASSASSIN

A car turned the corner and pulled up in front of the building. The engine stopped.
He looked at his watch. The car opened. The victim stepped out. Blond hair. Red dress.
Blue shoes. Long elegant hands. He knew what he had to do. She looked looked around
and started walking to the door. She pulled an umbrella. As she got up, she turned, and
for a second he thought she locked eyes with him. Green eyes. He blinked. She had turned
away and gracefully waltzed around the puddles. Her childish ponytail bounced as she
walked. When she got to the door she pulled her bag and took out her mirror and her lipstick. He took a breadth. Through her mirror, she saw the bullet puncture her skin and
cleanly exit the other side of her head with a flourish of red.
He breathed out and Smiled to himself. That was almost too easy. He picked up his
rifle and starts to dismantle. Clip off. Cartridge out. He smiled at the nearly full cartridge.
He never missed. Top section off. Firing pin out. Everything into the suit case. He walked
to the ladder and climbed to his next job.

THE ASSASSIN