Not that one. Not her either. He’s with too many people.
This is harder than last time. It was quick and easy before, it being towards the middle of the night, but now it’s almost nine in the evening. It’s earlier. Lighter. More people still bustle the streets, trying to get home or to work for a night shift. But not me. I observe from the sidewalk, watching the bodies move in harmony to the sound of the universe, trying to find the weaker link that is disrupting the movement. Making it… unbalanced.
I watch a group of college kids walk out of the club across the street. I read the name a few times, letting the neon coloured light engrave into my mind, so when I close my eyes, I can still see the outline of the letters. I quickly refocus on the plan in mind.
I watch more faces fly past me, all with a set destination. I stand around a while longer, silently reading people’s body language. The men in front of the club are showing off tattoos to some girls they probably just met. The one girl wraps her arms around herself; a sign of self-comfort. She doesn’t act like the rest of the group. Her dress doesn’t match the body-slimming attire of the other girls. It’s not balanced. She’s the one.
I head towards her, playing through my soon-to-be actions in my mind when a harsh voice reached my ears from the alleyway by the side of the club. Some drunk guy was singing a mopey verse about a lover he once had.
Atrocious.
It was all off. The key was wrong, the pitch, the melody, the words even. He couldn’t even be bothered to hold in his burp till the end of the verse. My mind immediately emptied of the closed-off girl and my full attention turned on the drunkard. He waddled along the alleyway, bottle in hand, swinging it vigorously to his twisted version of the melody.
I matched my pace to his lugging steps as to not disturb his peace of mind. Widening my steps, but still keeping the same rhythm, I closed the distance between us. He turned his head slightly towards me, revealing a clouded-over eye, and a crooked smile plastered across the part of his face I could make out in the light. It was disturbing, showing off his yellowed excuse for teeth, which looked more like fangs the way they were chipped here and there.
Unbalanced.
I hesitated for a second in utter disgust, a switchblade held tightly in my hand. It would be better without him disturbing the sound of the universe that echoed throughout the night, only to be interrupted by his lousy vocal ability.
I raise the knife a little higher after returning to my senses. The plan was about to be set into action. I slid my arm around the side of his neck, reaching for the exposed Adam’s apple in the front. He somewhat jumped. Although he’d seen me already, the shock of the thought of dying never fails to sober someone up in the blink of an eye.
Source: Flickr
A Million Miles to Go 