The night was dark and stormy'�. It was the sort of night that kept decent men inside. Only those with evil intent were abroad. Rain thundered down out of the heavens as if trying to cleanse the souls of the wicked on this unforgiving earth. The floodgates were open. The wind swept and lashed the rain in all directions, driving, stinging into the wrenched soul's unprotected face.

One man, the king of terrors walked through the empty street, trying to keep body and soul together.

I sat there in my cold and clammy cocoon watching the drama of life unfold:
Nay ' but only a sentence in the encyclopedia of humanity was revealed to me and I thought 'O Supreme One'� you have spat on the page and I have the audacity to deem myself as profound? Talented? Gifted? I Am! Need I say more?
Definitely not to you. Oh, Exalted One!

Let me continue'�..

Oh yes. Body and soul together. The air was filled with hatred and danger. His life, so filled with disappointment, the resentment; he was never wanted, always in the way. Always doing the wrong thing at the wrong time. His mother abandoning him at the age of five.

The creature in him came alive and felt the urge to launch into eternity. He was sent there on a contract. He examined the earth closely; he needed a sign; a vision, something to point him in the direction of his kill.

He needed to plan his approach carefully, but first he needed to find his victim. He was not far, he could smell them! He moved slowly towards an old abandoned building at the end of the street. He sensed a strange attraction to this building. Almost as if he should know it.

A sense of belonging. He reached the dilapidated house and took out his 45 desert eagle; filled with 15 rounds and 1 kiss of death.

He would probably not even need more than one; he was told that it would be an easy target. Just how easy he did not know. He moved with a deathlike silence to the back of the house. There was a path from the back door into the forest behind the house. Next to the path grew red roses all the way on both sides.

He found this a little strange considering the state the house is in, but did not ponder on it long. He attaches a silencer to his weapon, now he is ready.

He enters the house through a broken window. He is in the kitchen. His keen sense of smell picks up a rather familiar aroma. It was a sweet but hauntingly familiar smell. A perfume he knew.

The figure moved slowly through the darkness, he moved from the grubby kitchen and on to the hallway.

To his right led a door and to his left was a staircase. He moved to the stairs, but before ascending, he tested each step carefully just to be on the safe side. He did not want his victim to know he was there, his silence was crucial. He stepped into the second floor hallway. He felt a sudden hunger for the kill to come, but he could not rush this, it had to be done right'�.

He stood listening a while. To his left there was silence from behind the closed doors, but to his right he heard running water. He felt an unknown presence and had to move quickly. Someone might be coming.

He moved towards the sound. Staying in the shadows just outside the half open door. Dim light was coming through. He listened for movement or sound of any kind, indicating that someone was there. For a while nothing, so he moved to open the door. The running water stopped. He stood frozen.

There was movement and there was that sweet aroma again. What was so familiar about that smell, so wonderful, almost enchanting? He slowly moved back. His instincts like an animal, he was trained to kill. He heard a soft humming from behind the door, so gentle, beautiful and charming. He moved closer.

He had to see inside, he could not resist.

He peeked around the door; there she was, in the tub filled with foam. Her skin wrinkled, long, curly grey hair lying over her shoulders. Humming to herself.

He couldn't stop staring; she looked so familiar, so much like'�.it could not be. If he could only see her face. She was so frail, so alone, was she his contract?

NO!! This could not be right, could it?

He could not do this, why he did not know, but this was wrong. He turned and slowly moved back down the stairs and out of the house. He wanted to put as much space between them as possible and fast, he was after all, trained to kill. He did this everyday and never has he had a problem or backed out, never. What was it about her, why can't he remember?

He stopped in front of the house in the pouring rain. He fell to the ground screaming, holding his head. 'O'� the pain, the confusion, something was wrong with him, he had to get help. Lightning struck close by. He blacked out.

When he awoke sometime later, not sure how much later. He found himself inside a room, on a bed, covered with a old tattered blue blanket. How did he get there, who helped him?

He sat up rapidly, frantic, looking around searching. The room started spinning, he lay back down, calming the dizziness. He had a dream, of his mother and his father fighting, he was four and hiding from them under the table. His father was telling her if she didn't stop, he would take her son away for good. Why did he dream this, after all these years, what did it mean?

He looked at his surroundings, there were a few torn paintings and faded photos on the walls, and if he looked closer he would recognize them. Next to the bed was a broken chair, the windows were barred closed with pieces of wood. Now he knew where he was.

He was back inside the old house, how did he get there, did she see him? He had to get out! He slowly rose to his feet. Still a bit weak, but he would move slowly and quietly.
He went towards the door, it suddenly opened and there she stood. Candle in one hand and a cup in the other. A torn red dress made from rags and her cheeks glowing from the cold. Her hands were trembling. She has grown very old and was uncared for.

His instincts took over, before he could stop and think. Like lightning he pulled his gun and fired, wounding her. The top of her arm exploded and sent pieces of flesh flying through the air. He struggled within himself, conflict filling him. She fell to the ground screaming, blood spraying all over. Her hoarse crackling voice echoing through the night air. He had to finish the job. He fired again, silence filled the room.

He stood there in disbelief, staring at her. He slowly moved closer, kneeling next to the old woman now lying on the floor, drenched in blood. He thought he recognized her when she came in, but he had to be sure. Who was she? He shot without hesitation, it was his work, and he had to be this way.

He did it, he killed her! She lay there on the floor, blood seeping through the wooden floor boards. He screamed holding his mother in his arms, her lifeless body still hot.

How could he have known? They set him up. Why did they send him to do this?.............

It was done and it was too late to ask these questions. He has done what he was sent to do.

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