This is a short piece, a homework of my creative writing class: to deliver a short piece about a character. Clearly, it was inspired by a recent incident. Please enjoy and feel free to comment.
He threw himself onto the cushioned chair, his legs stretched out front, propped over the other. Light reflected off the tip of his shiny, leather brown shoes, delightedly showing off a smirk like the one its owner had drawn across his face.
His hair was graying, brows thick above his malicious eyes. His checkered, button-down shirt hung loose from his thin frame, not even wrapping around the beer belly he had. His blue eyes bored into hers, as though knowing something about her that she did not. She winced slightly before withdrawing her gaze from his, looking down at his hands which were crossed, against his chest. The pen, the puppet and accomplice of its owner’s destruction plans, lay benignly on the desk. A thin sheet of paper sat on the desk, flat as its master’s words. From the distance, she could not see what was written on it. The element of surprise, as Dan Brown would say, was the best advantage an assassin could have.
“Ready?” he leered, showing a row of bleach-white teeth. Clearly, he had braces when he was younger. Or perhaps, given his age, they were dentures.
“Yes,” she breathed, not looking into his eyes as she took her place at the front of the class.
“Then, begin,” he instructed, not even reaching for the pen.
She eyed it suspiciously and started her speech, her script trembling in her hands so slightly that her audience could not even see. Eye contact was essential, that was one of his criteria. She kept her eyes scanning the class in front of her, who were nodding, not at her speech, but into a deep sleep as her lullaby drawled on for the next fifteen minutes. Often, she let her eyes zoom over to the desk where he sat, but the pen still lay untouched. His head cocked to the side whenever their eyes met. “What was she looking at?” he thought.
He had guessed, of course, like another victim of his. They wanted to know what he was writing, good or bad, positive or negative. But today, he had a plan, a more vicious plan of delivering his death sentence. No matter how good she would be, she would meet her downfall today. He knew she did not know the reason why the pen was lay untouched, unlike the usual procedure. Today, he would not deliver the use of his weapons in front of his victim. In fact, the death sentence had already been carried out, unbeknownst to her, of course: her grade had already been given before the presentation had even started.
The Assassin © 2011 by AubyStories. All rights reserved.