assignment: last lap

This was it. He was here. It was going to happen. He held the knife to the other man’s throat. He wasn’t much of a man, really. He was almost still a boy. Some young thing picked from an alley between buildings on an increasingly dilapidated college  campus. But it didn’t matter how old he was, or what he looked like, what his own hopes and aspirations consisted of… He was going to die.

**

The boy had been walking alone down an alley, a stupid move, to be sure, shuffling steps and hands in his pockets. He had earphones in, and that was his biggest mistake. Dante had only to stand just behind him, hugging the decrepit brick wall, and wait for his opportunity. There was no special cue, no stooping to tie a shoe, or looking around suddenly to see who was watching him – Dante simply reached out… and GRABBED him. The young man went down with a struggle, but he was so weak and small compared to Dante’s imposing form, there was no contest. Dante slammed his head into the concrete beneath their feet, only hard enough to knock him out, and then stood straight, checking for witnesses before dragging the limp form away.

**

Once inside the room he’d selected, an unoccupied dorm room on the ground level of a now-unused building, he set the boy on the frame of one of the beds. He’d gotten blood on his hands, from the gushing wound near the boy’s temple. It was very distracting. The colour, the shape of the pattern over his fingers -- he could almost smell it. It was beautiful. He wanted more. So much more.

Turning toward the body, he pulled the long knife out of his pocket and stared at it. It was finally going to be able to taste its first drops, and it was ready.

Stepping closer to the boy, Dante placed the knife to his throat and took a steadying breath. This was it. He was going to finally kill someone. All this time, dealing with those voices, and those urges… This need that had been building for so long… His moment had finally come.

The boy’s eyes opened, just as the knife bit into his flesh. Shock filled his features, and Dante faltered. There was blood everywhere, not too much, not enough, but it was there and it was overwhelming. The boy’s hands flew out, scrabbling for a hold on Dante’s arms, pushing the knife away. The knife slipped and knicked Dante’s palm and he stepped back, gripping his hand in stunned surprise. The boy’s feet kicked out, landing their mark in Dante’s gut, knocking the wind out of him. He couldn’t breathe and he stumbled further back, bumping into deserted furniture, tripping and falling. The boy vaulted from the bed frame, looking wildly around before fleeing through the door, and out of Dante’s life forever.