Ficitonal short story - crime.
|Night fell. The darkness closed in on Anna as if the sun had been simply blown out. All of a sudden the familiar streets that seemed so comforting somehow felt alien in the darkness. The people had vanished, the light chatter which filled the air had turned to silence. It seemed eerie, almost as if all the life had been sucked from the street, and now it was the turn of those that creep in the night to inhabit it.
She chastised herself for being so silly and childish. This was the same street she’d live on for all her 39 years, why would it feel different now?
As he watched from the corner, he thought to himself how ridiculous he was being. He was nervous, had butterflies in his stomach. This never happened to him. He repeated the plan again in his head, rehearsed what he had to say, the exact movements and when he would execute them. Everything had to be precise, exact, or everything would fall apart.
She quickened her pace, sensing movement, eyes watching her. She wanted to be home, inside the safe haven with her husband. She didn’t know why she was panicking, but she knew something was wrong on the street.
He could see her breathing quicken, could see that she was scared, and he didn’t like it. For his plan to work she had to be calm and unaware. He could tell that if he approached her now, her response would be one of fear rather than acknowledgement. He wouldn’t be able to ask her to help with his injured friend, she wouldn’t trust him and follow her to the alley, he wouldn’t be able to force the chloroform soaked rag into her mouth. It was all wrong.
She’d reached her front door, and he heaved a sigh of disappointment. Maybe tomorrow he’d kill her, but for now she was safe. When the sun went down, the people who creep in the night come out to play.