HUNTER

19

The theatre was dark when the stage lights went out. The man pulled the red curtains of the stage back and tied them with a golden, embroidered cord. The place was quiet. It was his favourite time of day. Everyone was home, in bed, while he pranced around the theatre cleaning up debris like glitter from the actors and scenery, popcorn and drink cartons abandoned by patrons. Everything was still. No one to tell him what to do, or how to do it. His boss was such a dick with his smug swagger, his Armani suits, and the stupid fucking comb over that made him want to piss in his hair gel. Everything about him was image. Even his wife, Michelle, couldn't stand the man. She had told him, after they had made love under the pale light of the changing rooms with the flap of the budgies wings like a romantic symphony. She hated him. And he loved her for it. But she didn't love him. That she had made perfectly clear. He had professed his love and she had shunned him for it, even slapped him for his passionate speech. That's why he was alone tonight and not in her arms. He missed her pale skin sliding against his, her strawberry blonde hair scattered upon a makeshift pillow of coats, and the hitch in her voice as he entered her. God, he missed her.

Abandoning the curtains he moved to clear up the litter about the red velveted seats. "Messy bastards," he muttered as he picked chewing gum from the back of a seat with a sticky lollypop stick and dropped it into a rubbish bag. Humans were disgusting. No wonder the earth was dying with all the pollution, the rubbish, the population growth. If dickheads put on condoms there would be far less little shits in the world. Tying the bag into a knot he left it by the door before entering the changing rooms. The smell hit him so hard he gagged. Flipping on the light switch he stared at the body at his feet. The strawberry blonde hair matted with blood made him choke on his own tears as he scrambled into the puddle of blood to gather her into his arms. Burying his face into the bloody mass of her hair the man sobbed. Only to stop when he heard the scrape of a blade on metal.

                                **************

I watched from afar as the man cried into the hair of the target below. Sitting high above the scene I couldn't help but feel for the guy. To find someone you cherish that way would be gutting. But, I wasn't paid to feel. I was paid to take out the unfaithful wife and her lover making it out to be a crime of passion turned suicide. This was what I'd been training for. It was either them or me. And I'm sorry (not sorry) but I wasn't going to die today. Tired of hearing his wails of anguish, I glide the blade of my knife over the metal bar that kept me from falling. The man froze, then stood searching the darkness for the owner of the sound. Pulling my red hood up, grabbing a nearby golden cord that held a hung sandbag, I flowed down to the stage and onto my feet.
He saw me and readied his fists. It was impressive. The woman hadn't fought at all. She'd screamed and ran as fast as her high heels could carry her. But we all dealt with fear differently, don't we.
He threw a punch at my face. Dodging it, I grab his wrist and twist it around his back holding until he begged for release. He fell to his knees to nurse his throbbing wrist. Grimacing, I take the magnum from my back pocket and place it at his temple, "hold it yourself." I mutter. And he begged for his life. "Do it!" I mumble. Keeping my voice low so as not to attract attention. His hand flew up to take over from my gloved one, and he held it tightly against his head. "Now pull the trigger."
"What?" He cried.
"Next time you fuck someone, don't fuck yourself in the process." I use my thumb to put a gentle pressure on the trigger and the gun went off. The chorus of the gun blasted around the room and I watched as the man fell to the side beside his lover. He was so tense, and holding the gun so tight that any flinch would of set the gun off. The job was done.
Making sure I had everything I came with, I headed for the exit. I wasn't sure how I felt about it. But there was no going back now. I was the phoenix. I was the murderess. I was she: I was Hunter.