The Knife

A man who finds pleasure in challenging others to the death, utilizing only his wits, skills and a knife as his weapons.

 Hiding in an alleyway Blake crouched amidst the shadows the full moon cast. It was one of his favorite hunting spots due to its slow trickling traffic; it was also one of the few places in the city with its obnoxious nightlife and distracting crime that in comparison warranted few passersby’s. A drawback playing hand in hand with the scarce on-looking of fewer witnesses. As patient as he was sympathetic he preferred not to waste his time and another’s life by cutting the jugulars of the nosy.  

Albeit several people had already crossed his path, like a young woman teetering to a fro on stilts for heels, falling into the graffitied walls for support, stretching her tight clothing as she rummaged through her purse for yet another bottle of alcohol to replace the previous which glass lay shattered, joining older bottles smashed by raving addicts to whom discarded them once their use had outlived them and liquor ran dry. Following the drunk not long after was a teenager whose gender was unidentifiable under the disguise of dark clothing. The youngster’s knowledge of the streets was more than commendable as they were in and out of the alley in a heartbeat, keeping their head on the swivel the kid’s perceptiveness was so refined as to sense and identify Blake’s presence. A feat both individuals recognized as their eyes locked before the teenager broke it and subsequently sped up. 

Ten minutes later, a small child no more than four skipped by followed by two others whose faces mirrored the first. Triplets? Blake wondered, intrigued. Tripping over air, the child at the caboose of its siblings, face planted and coming to terms with the pain that followed, begun to cry. Two older kids came into view one scooping up the fallen child while the other went after the escapees. The group of what Blake suspected was siblings hurriedly exited the alley from whence they came, the older children herding the younger. Next with a cane and yellow sun hat an older woman waltzed through, her pale features illuminated by the lone flickering light of the passageway.

Like a wolf with a walrus, he let them pass as he had standards, preferences, if it wasn’t a guy, an adult male, he didn’t bother. He enjoyed the thrill of the hunt, the rush and bloodlust that ensued when he engaged another male in a struggle for life, a battle for survival, a decisive duel to the death.

A cool breeze passed him by, conjuring goosebumps on his skin and warming his blood as his heart pumped it faster in the chill that extended through him. He twirled his jagged knife over his fingers impatiently from one hand to the other before popping it up into the air with a knuckle and snatching it as it returned. Licking its edge, he grinned. Then closing his eyes took a deep breath and released, opening his eyes to catch the dissipating wisps of his condensed breath. He embraced cold weather for it encouraged him to fight harder in the effort to kill faster before succumbing to its numbing spell.

            The distinct sound of a heavy boot splashing on water made itself heard at the right end of the alley. The footstep had some weight behind it, hinting at the possibility of a man. Blake rose, trembling slightly in anticipation; a cold sweat forming on his brow as he readied the military grade knife before him. Then the click of heels hit the pavement at a fast uneven pace. A woman? He wondered startled, where had she come from? Blake had heard only the man; he held his breath as the heavier footsteps continued in the heeled woman’s wake. Oh so it was a pursuer. Blake licked his lips as he tasted the fear rolling off a black haired woman in her passing. The smallest of smiles escaped him as he fought to rein down his all but bursting excitement, the pursuer was to be pursued…oh, it was to be more magnificent than he could’ve imagined, yes, he assured himself, this man; this one for sure was bound to be strong. Lucky.

            Then there was the man, his target and to be victim with his white creepy hockey mask, dark hat and gun as black as night by his side. The woman’s presence was a surprise as they were rare visitors come nighttime and catching a glimpse of her disturbing pursuer Blake was enraged. It was a sin to kill a woman; they were angels, to be worshiped and whom men owed their devotion. All men were demons, only through honoring women could their existence be tolerated and have meaning, all others? Well, that’s where he came in, as wayward men needed to die.

            A scream jerked him out of his thoughts, it had occurred further down the alley and the man in pursuit had since passed Blake’s niche.

“Help! Someone…anyone, ple--” A voice cried before something or someone hit its owner.

“Shut up! Damn…hope no one heard that…shut…no, quit struggling…”

            Darting into the alleyway at a dead sprint guided by the direction of the voices alone, Blake happened upon them with the man holding the woman, trapping her against the wall, throwing his arm forward in what Blake assumed, was not the first punch. Coming up behind the man, Blake catching the man’s arm with his free hand came around with his other to slide the knife, slight bent tip and all, into the fleshy right of the offenders back.          

 

            “Ugh…wha-what the hell man…? Oh god, oh--” The man let loose a dejected through delayed scream of pain, Blake wrenched the knife out, tearing flesh and skin in the process. Pushing the man off and away from the woman, Blake flipped his knife around his hand and popping it into the air caught it, grinning from ear to ear. Oh yes, this one, this one for sure was bound to give him a hell of a fight.

The man scrambling to his feet raised the gun unsteadily and pointed it at Blake. “Oh, s-so, you think that was fu-funny, huh? We-well how’s this?” He asked cocking the gun and aiming it at Blake’s head. “Gonna try playing hero again dumbass, huh? Don’t take a knife to a gunfight, ‘kay? ‘Cause you’ll get fucked up, lik-like this!”

Moving his head to the side as the man shot, the bullet made contact with the woman behind him, grinding through bone and brain as it burrowed into her skull. She dropped, her legs giving out under her, the body hit the pavement.

Looking over his shoulder, Blake shook his head and sighed. “What a waste.”

“The h-he-hell? Wha-what are you man? Some type of twisty a*s ninja?” The man said, as his began pulling the trigger. “Die damn it!”

Throwing his knife, Blake got down, flattening himself to the ground as bullets whizzed by overhead. The man above screamed dropping the gun. He held his shooting arm, gaping at the knife embedded. Eyes wide and breathing heavily, he turned and made a break for it.

            Blake sprinted after him in hot pursuit, like hell he’d let this guy leave the alley. Past here was the city, were open killing became a little more…complicated. Nonetheless he’d have to make quit work of the man and get out of dodge before onlookers attracted by the gunshots found the body and began pointing fingers and writing alibis.

A drop of sweat fell into his eye cutting off his vision in his left eye for a few precious seconds as he neared his target. Whipping out a second knife, Blake chucked it. The weapon made contact with the man’s calf and he went down with a yelp nearly face planting. Bringing his wounded leg to his chest he writhed on the ground as a racking spasm overtook him, allowing Blake time enough to catch up at a walk. Blake bringing down his foot, instead made contact with the man’s injured arm as the pursued made a feeble and unwise attempt to block. Boot met the knife’s hilt, casting it deeper into the man’s arm. The man shrieked, clutching his arm as tears worked their way out of his eyes then his body relaxed having a pain overload, knocked the man out. Reaching over as he mounted the man, Blake wrenched the knife out from the man’s leg causing pain enough to rouse the fainted man with a scream.

            Splaying his hand over his victims mask�"holding him down�"Blake pulling back his knife arm, drove the blade into the man’s jugular.

“Yesss, oh...yes.” Blake whispered captivated by the moment. Pushing the knife in further, Blake rode the waves of the man’s bucks and shudders until death looming over the horizon, claimed the still soul in its passing.

            Dropping his hands from the knife, Blake grabbed the dead man’s hair and slammed his head into the cement for finality, survivors were a pain.     

Sighing, he reclaimed his blades.

“It’s always over too soon.” Blake muttered, taking one last look at the body before turning back and walking deeper into the alley. Standing over the body of the dead woman, he knelt put his hands in a prayer like prose, closed his eyes respectfully and murmured a few prayers on her behalf before sticking his bloodstained hands in his pockets and casually continued walking. Exiting the back of the alley he joined the night crowds illuminated under the guidance of their well lit streets.

Author's Note

Did you like it? What are your thoughts on the short story? What did you think of the dialogue? The main character? The description and writing style? Please put forth your honest opinion on the plot in all honesty.

Reviews

[Wintershade]

Wow! I have to say, this is beautifully written. The tone of it, has a genuine urgency about it that I find compelling. The writing style, seems both 1st and 3rd person which is unusual, but his point of view is so present and his voice is so clear in the writing! Really well done.
As for the character himself, well...I'd like to know more. I get the sense that he is complex; that his appetites stem from something deliciously dark in his past. What's more, there is a strange and twisted code to his behavior, which I would love to know more about. I get the impression we could easily forget he was the bad guy, if not for the brutality and utter enjoyment of his acts. In that way, I am reminded of Hannibal Lecter.
Lastly, the dialogue was very good. The only question I have is about the man with the gun. It was unclear to me, whether his stammer was out of fear, surprise or was characteristic of the character? His words gave the impression that he was challenging the main character, defiantly but the stutter was contrary to that. Clarification?
In any case, I intend to keep an eye on your work in the future. Very nice, indeed!