Stalking
April 12, 2002
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Homework
The bell in the tower strikes twice. I flick open my pocket watch to confirm the time.
"Any time now," I say to myself, looking about.
Moonlight glimmers on the surface of the water in the market place fountain. The market place itself looks like something one would find in a ghost town. The pale glow from the moon washes out the normally gaily colored, cloth awnings in front of each shop. The peddler stalls are messy and look as if years of dust and grime have shored up against their sides. The stalls' walls cast wavering shadows in the light of the single oil lamp hung outside of the Dancing Jaguar Tavern's front door.
The door to the tavern opens to release a customer. The foul stench of ale, piss and sweat, along with the acrid smoke from the dreaming herbs assails my poor beleaguered nostrils. I look at the man who has just left. He turns to me for a moment. He is not the one that I seek, I allow him to move along by looking away from him.
The wind brushes away the cloying smells from the tavern and I can breathe again. The moon hides behind a cloud for a moment and my heart skips a beat. The sounds of the night seem to increase in volume while the moon is hidden. I can hear bad singing and even worse dancing in the tavern. There is a rat over by the alleyway, scuttling about in the trash.
Suddenly the door to the tavern bursts open and an occupant tumbles to the street. I can tell just by the sound he makes as he hits the ground that he is my mark. The man slowly staggers to his feet, and meanders off into the darkness.
It is time.
I push away from the wall I had been leaning on, and begin the stalking. The prey will not elude me this time.
NOTE: This was an assignment for my CCV Creative Writing I online class with William Noble.
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