He wanted to kill someone. Not anyone in particular, or for any particular reason – he just wanted to see what it felt like.
He didn’t want to get caught, though. He’d be careful.
He bought a high-powered collapsible rifle with a silencer from a bloke’s mate’s friend of a pal, and found an old abandoned building in Bethnal Green that was right next to the railway line to Liverpool Street.
He went in, suited and booted at 7.00am. He found an old fridge to sit on, opened the briefcase and constructed the gun.
Sitting in the darkness (away from the window, of course), no-one knew he was there, and once people did they wouldn’t be able to do anything anyway – no-one would know exactly where they were, and by the time they’d called the police he would be gone.
Then he simply waited for one of the frequent trains to stop outside, as it waited for a platform at the next station to clear.
He just wanted to see what it felt like.
Eventually a train arrived. Commuter traffic into which he’d blend perfectly; all suits and power – he nearly tried to justify it in his mind as a statement against capitalism. Some protest.
There was a man facing towards him, reading a book – he’d do.
He peered through the scope, adjusting it as he did so. Between the eyes was industry standard, he’d been told.
The cross hairs on the bridge of the nose, and the man looked up – looked straight at him. Blue eyes.
SPINCH.
The man’s head was gone, and screaming erupted from the carriage.
He sat down, collapsed the gun into the briefcase, took the stairs three at a time, and then out onto the alley where the screaming was ripping apart the sky. Under the bridge and away – turn left onto the street, and off towards the station. A few of the male commuters had managed to get free. They ran towards and past him, not even a second glance.
So, how did it feel, he considered.
Not much cop. Bit of a disappointment, really.
About the author of this post
The Goatman – due to the usual experiments going wrong &c &c, The Goatman is an internationally-available gentleman of letters, raconteur and wit. His amorous conquests are myriad, his taste in whisky of renown, and his ability to look comfortable in extreme situations is of significant scientific study. He has been known to conspire with Vagabond Images.
nothing in the rulebook 