The Rippers

My entry for the Music, Movies, Movellas competition. Based on Victorian Vigilante - Abney Park. Everyone has Heard of Jack the Ripper - correct? But not everyone knows that he didn't exist. His legacy, however, is very real. A group of street children that call themselves "The Rippers" commit these terrible deeds, each disguised as the notorious criminal.But when their boss is murdered, the finger is pointed at a number of Rippers. Including Natalie Redstone, a loyal Ripper for three years. Can she clear her name and leave her wretched life behind?

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2. A Quick Job

I watch in silence as the man exits The Coach and Horses inn, alcohol seeping into every corner of his body and feeble mind, controlling him. While he deftly follows the orders of  his gin bottle, I creep from my hiding place behind the cluster of street lights and litter bins.  As I make my way round the corner to the road he has turned down, I am stopped in my tracks by a rush of footsteps coming my way. I press myself against the wall, not even daring to breathe. Luckily the gin-soaked old rat is too blinded by his drink to acknowledge my existence, despite staring directly at me. He shrugs, then continues on his way.

I don't know who this man is. Nor do I know whether he deserves this. I just know I have to kill him.

That's my job after all.

Eventually he turns into a small alleyway, so I seize my opportunity. He obviously mistakes me for another one of his drunken friends, since he happily nods and says "A good evening, then?" I remain silent, but instead step closer, quickening my pace. I pull my sword cane out, and he stupidly fumbles around for his own. When he eventually succeeds,  he begins lunging forward, shouting aggressive phrases. I merely reply with:

"Well, what a high class phrase for a low class mouth." I grin. I see his face contort as he works out that I am merely a stranger after all, not one of his gin-soaked companions. 

He tries for an attack, surging toward me, but I am quicker than any drunkard. Before he has time to process such thoughts in his drowsy mind, I have him firmly in my grasp, my cane pressed harshly against his neck. He continues to struggle, but his twitching and pulling has cut his neck in two, staining the cobblestones below scarlet with blood.

I let go of him, watching his body fall on to the crimson spattered floor. I yank my cloak off myself, revealing a girl of about seventeen, her wild black mane flying around behind her, her green eyes sparkling. I walk out an innocent child, seen but not heard. 

Jack the Ripper strikes again.

 

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