I just want to get home -- God it's freezing. She wrapped her scarf around her righter, hands in pockets dug deeper, shoulders scrunched, her slight frame full of the tension of cold and the extreme exhaustion of staying warm. The sway of her bodykeaning into the wind steadied her; she plowed forward like a locomotive desperately seeking a station.
His eyes met hers for the slightest second, 100 metres away, hood up, his shoulders hunched, hands in pockets, negotiating the cold. His broad shoulders swaying as he walked quickly, decidedly towards her.
His eyes vacant, a dark fire burning deep underneath, his mouth a simple scowl, a nonchalant afterthought, while he closed the proximity between.
Just a few inches away, his shoulder grazed hers as he passed--tweed coat on cotton hoody, her eyes perusing her playlist, the blue light of the screen illuminating her dark eyes.
Like a cobra, calm before a strike, the tingle of tweed on cotton ignited him with a shock of electricity, and he struck, fangs at the ready.
The 6-inch blade in his sleeve permeated her lower shoulder blade to the hilt--he struck as if pushing through her--like a shark fin through water, like a F16 through clear sky.
The blue screen fell from her hand like a star from heaven. A thick gurgling escaped from her parted lips--her blood foaming in her pierced lung.
Her blood seeped through her coat and onto his hand still at the hilt, still deep inside her.
She wavered on her feet and he released his weapon, easing her to her knees, then face down on the damp, uneven path.
The light on her ipod went out. A street lamp flickered. Hoody flipped up, he wiped his blade on her calf and carried on his way, leaving her gurgling under the cloudy night sky.
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