The chill of the night air cut through his clothes that the strong winds were ravaging. The rain was falling heavily, the monotonous dull thud of the downpour resounded in his head, but the noise was not enough to distract him from the task ahead. Was the word task really appropriate? It made it sound like a profession, a life choice, but this certainly not what he had chosen to be. He flexed his hands, the cold had brought out the bruising a shade of black and blue around his knuckles particularly obvious as he clenched his fists, a movement all to familiar, the sign that all in his life was not how it should be, could be?
He pulled his drenched hoodie over further; his head hung low, a combination of the weight of the sodden clothing and his attempt to obscure his facial features. Hiding the freckles across his face, their random scattering like a spattering of blood. The distinctive crumpled nose that lacked definition having had the bone broken repeatedly. His eyes focused on a shop over the road, his brow furrowed causing his forehead to wrinkle unattractively. His vision was obscured by the downpour but he could make out the shop, the newly installed shutters there to protect the smashed out windows that had been boarded over. This wasn’t a nice neighbourhood, wasn’t somewhere you should be. He was alright though, he wasn’t the victim anymore, he was the reason it wasn’t safe. He could see his icy breath escaping penetrating the night time air, reflecting the coldness inside him, perhaps a symbol of his lack of emotion to what he was about to do.
It was dark, the majority of the lamp posts in this part of town had been smashed out just like the shop windows that or were just suffering from disrepair, the area wasn’t exactly on the councils list of priorities. Either way combined with the cloud cover it meant he was a mere shadow, one of the many that seemed to choke what little light that was present, casting sinister shapes to any eyes brave enough to look for them. Rule one of the streets: Keep your head low, look at the ground unless you have some desire to be sprawled out on it. The time was now, he began to walk purposefully; kicking off the graffiti covered wall he had been leaning on and crossing the road, barren of all cars and life except for the target he now approached.
He sized the shop keeper up, he was of average build it shouldn’t be a challenge. He had his back turned as he was locking up his attention was on the job (a job, something he had never had the luxury of having, another thing his cruel past had cheated him out of.) The man was obviously rushing to try to get out of the rain perhaps to get back to his family. He pushed the thought out of his mind it wasn’t good to humanise them; it made it that much harder.
The first thing the shop keeper knew of Damien’s presence was the explosion of pain at the back of his leg as a steel toe capped boot powered into it. The move was executed with precision, the leg buckling causing the man to collapse to the floor; naturally he was caught off guard. The cold solid clasp of Damien’s hand tightened round the mans neck, he dropped down this time his knee going into the man’s stomach, the move done was one of experience and his effectiveness at the task at hand was unnerving and disturbing for a boy only just turned 17. A knife appeared at the whimpering mans throat as he spat out the words demanding the wallet, phone, watch and anything else of value.
The cold steel of the knife lingered over him, it was pressed close enough for the shop keeper to feel the pressure but not quite enough to cut into the skin, the knife held no gleam if it was slightly lighter and the shop keeper had the luxury of attention he would notice the dried blood that coated the pen knife. While this fact may have been one that could of caused him alarm the truth was that the only blood this knife had ever spilt was that of Damien’s and one other, if the shop keeper had looked at the boy’s wrists he would see the scars left from the deep lacerations that had healed over time but the mental anguish that had led him to do it was all to clear, perhaps something that would continue to haunt him throughout life.
The man was a quivering wreck; if the knife wasn’t at his throat Damien expected he would be writhing around on the floor. The man’s eyes looked at him pleading for mercy but he was met only with cold dark eyes that appeared glazed over staring out from the shadow of the hoodie. He pocketed the valuables and jumped to his feet and ran down the street, descending into the nearest back alley to escape out of sight engulfed by the shadows of the night.
If anyone else was present they would of seen a change in him the sadistic smirk that had previously ran over his face, his cracked lips pursed together all done to create a menacing image faded. It was only for a second but the change was distinct his face dropped, a sign of regret he didn’t look back he didn’t want to see the man hunched over cradling his stomach, didn’t want to consider the possibility of the man coughing up blood onto the pavement.
Scared
Alone
Weak…
Like him…
Subject: Opening to a potential novel 
Mon Mar 09, 2009 8:24 pm
