Attack. Short Story.

He watched her as she walked, Henry made sure he wasn’t too close though, that was always a dead give away. The streets were quiet and mostly empty, it was that golden time of the day when people were all off doing something, so it felt like Henry had the whole city to himself, this time however, he was sharing it with this girl. He watched the way her body moved as she shifted her weight with each step. She wore a pair a sneakers, slightly scuffed, a pair of tight jeans and a baggy sweater along with a back pack. Henry thought she must be one of those college kids. No doubt she had something slutty underneath that baggy sweater, just waiting until she had the right audience before she revealed it. Didn’t want old lechers like him to see, no she wanted to reserve that right for the younger guys, the studs she was no doubt banging. Despite her attempts to cover up, he was able to spot the curves of her body and fill in the blanks himself. He couldn’t see her face, but that wasn’t a problem, after all, every woman was beautiful in the dark. Her hair was tied back in some kind of ponytail, allowing him to see flashes of her glasses, going for the sexy librarian look obviously. Man, what he would do to her if he was five years younger. He used his imagination to fill in the rest.
It had been about five minutes since he started following her, but the road was mostly straight, she wouldn’t notice him, no, she’d be too caught up in what ever shitty little drama ruled her life, she wouldn’t notice him until he was right up against her. He was getting old, sure, but a man still had urges. It was her job to take care of them. Besides that, she didn’t look all that strong. She was thin sure, but it was skinny fat, there were no muscles there. He had no doubt of that. She would be easy to dominate. His mouth suddenly filled with saliva. The things he would do to her. He glanced around quickly, making sure they were still alone, up ahead there was a little alley he knew of, not that he’d used it himself of course, but he knew of it. Small, quiet, hard for passerby to look into. He just needed to plan this right. He picked up his pace a little, getting right up close to her. The faint scent of her perfume hit him, flowery and fresh, his heart thudded harder. This would be fun. His last hurrah perhaps, so he’d have to enjoy it. The mouth of the alley was coming up, he moved into position and, just as they past, he sprung forward, grabbing her, pulling her. She was strangely quiet as he pulled her, Henry didn’t notice, he was looking forward to what was going to happen next, no doubt she’d be screaming for more at the end of it. He shoved her against the wall, he was old, but he was strong. So far there had been no noise out of her, then, she said one little word.
“Sorry.”
He sneered, “Yeah, bet you’re sorry you’re a little slut now, I’m gonn-” He was cut off as she broke his grip, his eyes widening in surprise, she was stronger than he had expected. Her hand wrapped around his throat, squeezing. He let her other hand go, using both hands to claw at hers, her grip merely tightening. She stepped from the wall, propelling him backwards, then turned, dragging him with her, she stepped forward, pushing him against the wall, she eased up for a second, allowing him to breathe, then she slammed his head against the wall, smiling slightly as it made a meaty thud. His eyes rolled, she smiled wider and slammed him against the wall again. She tightened her grip, watching as his face turned red. She glanced at her watch, she was going to be late.
When he stopped struggling she let him drop, then, she checked for a pulse, none. Good. She kicked him twice, both times in the ribs. Then she left the alley. At first she felt happy, she had done a good thing, removing a scumbag from the world, it made everything nicer, but the further she away she was, the more guilt she felt. Sure she removed a scumbag, but she had enjoyed it just a little too much. She wasn’t supposed to like this so much. It’s why she always apologised to everyone she killed. It helped her take responsibility. She preferred to do it while they were still alive, but apologising to their graves way also an ok way to do it. Once she acknowledged what she did. It had become her trademark, it was kind of nice. Once she apologised people knew they were already dead, so for the most part they didn’t struggle too much. She’d be able to handle it if they struggled of course, but it was nice that they made it easy. It was almost like they were forgiving her for what she did.
Most of the time she didn’t know who they were, and she didn’t want to know. That was never part of the deal. Her only requirements were that they died. Sometimes it was a little more complicated, like it had to look like an accident. In those cases, she sought them out before hand, walking along the streets she’d bump into them, then apologise. They’d think she meant for the bump, but that was okay. She was good at what she did, they’d never catch her, even if she did take small risks like that. No one in the business knew what she looked like, so there was no danger of recognition there. She looked at her watch again and increased her pace, dammit she was going to be late. Once she reached the campus, she broke out into a jog, dodging through the milling crowds of people. No one paid attention to her, people running was a common sight.

She slid into her seat, her breathing barely elevated, and opened her bag, taking out a blank writing pad, as she placed it onto the desk her next target appeared and walked to the front. She held a cup of coffee in one hand and a pile of papers in the other. She put them down and started the lecture, unaware that her killer sat thirty feet from her.

She had studied the professor for three weeks now, coming in as a first year, the professor always had coffee and it always lasted for two classes. It was simple, this time she would use poison, just slip it into the coffee when she went to talk to the woman. She jotted down a note, underlined it and wrote “Exam??” beside it. She was thorough, in a few weeks she’d drop out, claim it was the stress or something. Lots of people dropped out in the first few weeks, she wouldn’t stand out. Smiling, she continued with her notes.

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About Alan James Keogh

I am a 24 year old writer who somehow tricked U.C.D. into giving me not only a degree in English and Classical studies, but an Hons Masters in Creative Writing too. Visit my blog where I post short stories twice a week (Monday and Wednesday) and an installment of a serialised novel on Fridays. I did consider writing this in the third person, as though it was written by someone else, but Alan is not comfortable writing in the third person as it seems kinda creepy and unbalanced so Alan decided it was probably best to write in the first person. He hopes it went well for him.
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