Emile exhaled shakily, a thin funnel of smoke billowing away from pursed lips. His hand fell to his side. His pointer and middle fingers gripped a half-drawn cigarette, the golden ember at its tip glowing brightly like a firefly. A dull luster from a streetlight trickled through the single window in front of him. He didn’t bother flipping the lights on when he walked in. He knew they’d be coming for him soon.
He reached up and grabbed the brim of his hat, pulling it off of his head. He turned it to look at its front. Deep red stains dotted its crown and trim. He hadn’t looked at himself in a mirror but he was sure those stains weren’t confined to the hat. He hadn’t been very neat, after all.
His ears jerked, catching faint sounds of sirens somewhere in the distance, just barely recognizable over the late night din of the bar below his office.
He took a deep drag from his cigarette. He was hoping they’d have come a little sooner, before he’d had time to think about it all. It wasn’t like he’d made it difficult for them to find him. He’d scribbled a note on a wrinkled piece of paper he’d pulled from the waste bin after he’d finished.
“You know where to find me. I’ll be sitting on my desk.
-Emile”
The sirens grew a little louder now.
He was worried that he might start to regret what he’d done. Well maybe not worried, per say, but certainly curious. He didn’t. Emile smiled at that.
The floor beneath his boots rumbled as the band below took up their instruments and started to play. Slow and long-drawn melodies reverberated through the street. Horns collided with the rhythm section like two heavyweight prize fighters in the tenth round, slowly shrugging tired arms at one another. Off-beat tones and lazy riffs. An island vibe offering stark contrast to the cold, driving autumn rain.
Laughter echoed outside. Beer bottles clinked and occasionally shattered as jovial revelers danced and moved with the music. Most of them, Emile imagined, were simple people. They worked regular jobs and lived with regular families and did regular things.
Life could be so easy.
But, alas, it wasn’t so easy. Not for Emile, at least. Not anymore.
The sirens were screaming now. Their shrieks interwoven with the band's melodies in a beautiful and terrible cacophony of sound. The dark corners of his office were exposed in flashes of blue and red.
He looked down and rotated his wrist toward his chest to check his watch. 1:24 am.
Emile always wondered how it would feel. How it would happen for the first time. He thought again of the patrons at the bar and their simple lives. Part of him wished he was like them, sharing in their dull lives and pedestrian desires. But he wasn’t like them. He was extraordinary. And he had extraordinary needs.
Brakes squealed in front of his building. Laughter and conversation subsided as the partygoers grew hushed and confused. The music never stopped.
Emile stood and turned his back to his office door. He unclasped the buttons of his jacket, letting it swing open.
Boots thumped rhythmically as officers ascended the staircase, like ants marching in a line.
Ants always do what they’re told. Ants never think for themselves.
He reached into the scabbard tucked beneath his jacket and pulled free the knife. He wiped each face of the blade against his pant leg. He flipped the knife to hold it by its hilt, the blade facing downward.
The door to his office smashed open.
Emile exhaled. A wry smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
Planet_on_the_Cob t1_j1qksue wrote
Reply to [CW] Smash 'Em Up Sunday: Ska by Cody_Fox23
Emile exhaled shakily, a thin funnel of smoke billowing away from pursed lips. His hand fell to his side. His pointer and middle fingers gripped a half-drawn cigarette, the golden ember at its tip glowing brightly like a firefly. A dull luster from a streetlight trickled through the single window in front of him. He didn’t bother flipping the lights on when he walked in. He knew they’d be coming for him soon.
He reached up and grabbed the brim of his hat, pulling it off of his head. He turned it to look at its front. Deep red stains dotted its crown and trim. He hadn’t looked at himself in a mirror but he was sure those stains weren’t confined to the hat. He hadn’t been very neat, after all.
His ears jerked, catching faint sounds of sirens somewhere in the distance, just barely recognizable over the late night din of the bar below his office.
He took a deep drag from his cigarette. He was hoping they’d have come a little sooner, before he’d had time to think about it all. It wasn’t like he’d made it difficult for them to find him. He’d scribbled a note on a wrinkled piece of paper he’d pulled from the waste bin after he’d finished.
“You know where to find me. I’ll be sitting on my desk.
-Emile”
The sirens grew a little louder now.
He was worried that he might start to regret what he’d done. Well maybe not worried, per say, but certainly curious. He didn’t. Emile smiled at that.
The floor beneath his boots rumbled as the band below took up their instruments and started to play. Slow and long-drawn melodies reverberated through the street. Horns collided with the rhythm section like two heavyweight prize fighters in the tenth round, slowly shrugging tired arms at one another. Off-beat tones and lazy riffs. An island vibe offering stark contrast to the cold, driving autumn rain.
Laughter echoed outside. Beer bottles clinked and occasionally shattered as jovial revelers danced and moved with the music. Most of them, Emile imagined, were simple people. They worked regular jobs and lived with regular families and did regular things.
Life could be so easy.
But, alas, it wasn’t so easy. Not for Emile, at least. Not anymore.
The sirens were screaming now. Their shrieks interwoven with the band's melodies in a beautiful and terrible cacophony of sound. The dark corners of his office were exposed in flashes of blue and red.
He looked down and rotated his wrist toward his chest to check his watch. 1:24 am.
Emile always wondered how it would feel. How it would happen for the first time. He thought again of the patrons at the bar and their simple lives. Part of him wished he was like them, sharing in their dull lives and pedestrian desires. But he wasn’t like them. He was extraordinary. And he had extraordinary needs.
Brakes squealed in front of his building. Laughter and conversation subsided as the partygoers grew hushed and confused. The music never stopped.
Emile stood and turned his back to his office door. He unclasped the buttons of his jacket, letting it swing open.
Boots thumped rhythmically as officers ascended the staircase, like ants marching in a line.
Ants always do what they’re told. Ants never think for themselves.
He reached into the scabbard tucked beneath his jacket and pulled free the knife. He wiped each face of the blade against his pant leg. He flipped the knife to hold it by its hilt, the blade facing downward.
The door to his office smashed open.
Emile exhaled. A wry smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
Finally.