His Demise...

 DEATH

By John Abbott

It was dark , no moon , I could barely see my hand . My gloved hand tightened on the grip of my weapon , a small double-edged blade , six and a half inches of cold hard Sheffield steel . I must be conscious of not only trying to make as little noise as possible , but of not trying too hard , that only makes it less natural . I gritted my teeth , assuring myself that I could take him , that the sleek slim darkened metal could kill him , end his life and with it , his hopes , his dreams , his thoughts ....

A final word to myself .... now lad , go !!  My left knee took the strain and moved me cautiously upwards .


There he was , three large steps away , a low wall shielding his lower legs . He was about my height and seemed cold , his breath showing slightly in the night air . I glanced down , leaves in front of me , I made a full scan , left to right , couldn't see fuck !  right !  Here goes . Don't breathe Johnny old son , no intake of air , he might hear it .

I stepped into the abyss , into the darkness , one step , stop .... second step .... here goes .... it slowly occurred to me how could I stop him falling or making a sound ?

Without giving the idea a second thought , I stepped to him .


Left hand couldn't reach over to grab his headgear , so whilst moving forward , my right hand steered a piece of Sheffield into his left kidney , a tenth of a milli-second to withdraw the blade and now his helmet was in reach . Snap the helmet back SHIT !!!! , Bollocks !!! , No strap !!! , as his helmet calmly landed on my left thigh , my fingers tightened upon it , in the same moment , his head turned slightly left . Dear old Sheffield scored the winner , tight , hard , an inch and a half below his right ear lobe and up into his brain . Job done blade withdrawn in a second , I gently cradled his body , lowered it to the ground , claret all over the shop . I sat , cross-legged upon the wall and expelled my breath .


One-nil to England chum , I thought to myself . Not exactly a text book job , what was I doing ?  Should've realised the bloody strap , what a prat , that could have done for me ?  I hadn't heard any noise , too hyped-up, didn't matter now .


I raised myself , turned and stepped back three steps into my place of origin - the darkness .

As I wiped the blade upon the rag on my belt , my last thought was cold  I wondered what they'd tell his bird ?

 

Copyright John Abbott