1. Only The Good
The dead have no dignity. That was what Mark had learned in his short time on this planet. It was the one undeniable truth in this sorry excuse for a city; that and the pissing rain. Mark dropped down to a crouch and examined the body of his fallen compatriot as the heavens unleashed torrents of wind and rain that whipped at him, the body and the alleyway they were situated in. Aaron was lying face up, his cold, dead, glazed over eyes endlessly staring up at the oppressive grey sky that hung above the city like a swarm of locusts eager to descend on a harvest. His clothes were soaked through from the downpour and his skin was cold to the touch. He’d been there for a day, a day and a half at the most. On TV they always say how the faces of the dead often look like they are at peace or just simply resting but Mark knew that wasn’t case, not in his experience anyway. Like so many others he’d seen, Aaron’s face conveyed a look that rested somewhere in between shock and disbelief. Mark leaned in closer towards the body and adjusted the head so he could get a closer look at the wound that had ended Aaron’s life. A thin red line spread from one side of his throat to the other. Mark sighed.
‘Guess it’s not only the good who die young, huh Aaron?’
Mark lifted up Aaron’s lifeless right hand and saw that the thumb was missing. He sighed again.
Aaron’s killer had left a calling card.