Expect the Unexpected

Just a short, short story I had to write for English


1. Expect the Unexpected

Murder or killing can be a way to have revenge, release anger, jealousy, or in this case, a way to feel powerful, undefeatable, alive.

Jack carefully and quietly closed his door as he left his old, worn out apartment room. Taking each step down the stairs softly as not to wake up the land lady he thought determinedly to himself, “This time I won’t be so messy. Just one quick slit of the throat and it’ll be done.” The step groaned as he placed his foot down on it, he paused, one foot hovering over the next step. He held his breath as the snores from below briefly ceased but when no sound of somebody waking from their sleep came from the room, he continued down last few steps of the rickety stairs. “I should deal with that old bat, her bloody snores kept me up all of last night.” Jack frowned as he glanced at the semi-open door leading to the land lady’s flat, “not tonight though, perhaps tomorrow”. Buttoning up his shabby, blemished coat with one hand, his incredibly pointed knife in the other, he slowly pushed open the front door and stepped into the cloudy, moonless night.

Skulking in the dark shadows, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, whilst sharpening his knife against the brick wall of the building. His eyes scanned over the street, and as soon as the loud chimes from the Clock Tower rang 12 times signally midnight, a young lady of about eighteen years of age, stepped cautiously out of the dark into the dim glow of the tall street lamp. Her unpinned wavy hair was an unusual bright auburn, reaching down just past her shapely jawline, framed her face displaying her high cheek bones. The freckles sprinkled across her delicate, ski slope nose contrasted prominently against her fair skin. Quickly looking to see if there was anyone around as she turned into a dirty, rickety ginnel, leaving a faint trail behind her from the hem of her long black cloak skimming on the dusty cobblestone road, she left the safety of lamp’s fading lights. “Excellent timing, I need some practise.” Jack’s mouth twisted into a grim, determined smile, growing bigger and more ghastly, exposing his jagged, filthy, brown, tobacco stained teeth, if you could call them teeth, the further the girl continued on her journey through the dodgy alleyway.  Like a lion stalking its prey before it pounces from the bush, he silently pursued her as he rubbed down his knife with a dirty, blood stained handkerchief.

When they were near the middle of the darkened ginnel, she stopped. She knew he was there and she knew what he was going to do. “A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be out at this time of night by themselves.” Jack stated in a dangerous, alluring tone, “Especially on a night like this.” The girl stiffened, out of fear or anger Jack wasn’t certain, as he swiftly gripped her shoulder. Jack twirled the impossibly sharp dagger in his rough, tanned hand. The dagger was so sharp that if you had been cut, you wouldn’t feel it. Not at once. The man felt something hard and barrelled shape press on his chest, precisely over the heart in fact. In return, the girl had, unknowingly to him, drawn out a revolver from the concealed pocket of her long, dark, velvet cloak “That’s why I’m always prepared.” He heard her say in a dark tone before the loud bang of a gunshot echoed loudly in the ginnel. 

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