WIP: Born of Moonlight

What has he become?

        

I was born of moonlight, raised in darkness. Night is my only friend. I wander the streets in a perpetual black; a dark umbrella hides my face. The umbrella, a precaution, shields me from any moonlight that may cross my path. Clad in night, not even the knives on my belt dare glint. I am but a simple assassin, violent, but elegant in my ways. Never has a drop of blood brushed against my skin, in spite of the knives.

 

Crowds divide at my approach, a steady path opened by terror. Faces turn away, instinctive. No one knows my name, but all know who I am, and all fear me. I have hundreds of deaths to my name, and remember each one of them. Respect for the dead you could call it. No victim I have chosen has ever eluded me. I’ve killed in all manners, poisoning, stabbing, suffocation, and have used every weapon known. I have even have a few of my own design.

 

I kill objectively; I indiscriminating in my choice. However, the last one was different. My prey expected me. He was sitting on his bed, watching the through which I entered.

 

“Good morning,” he said, unconcernedly. “I was about to give up hope and go back to bed.” His eyes were a cold grey and did not move. I realized then he was blind.

 

“Are we going to get this over with yet?” he asked, “I was hoping for something painless, like a dart. But I guess I don’t really get a choice do I?” he said with a sigh. His casualness baffled me; I lingered in his window. “I’d like to die here, please,” he said motioning to his bed, “You know, it has been almost twenty years since I left this house. I know every crevice and room by the smell and feeling under my feet. However, this house only has so much to offer. Lucky for it, I only have one last request of it, to be my final resting place.” His head swiveled around the room as if he were taking a last glance of what he’s leaving behind. Upon this he laid himself in bed and whispered his final words, “Through death, perhaps you will see as I do.” The room became dreadfully silent, only his quiet breathing interrupted. Soon after, even that ceased to disrupt the silence.

 

Alone atop a roof I sit. Pondering the mans final words. A small black cat wanders over, “meow?” it calls. “Hello Shadow,” I say, scratching its head softly, “Nice to see you again.” Shadow was but a kitten when I first saw her up here. I watched her as she struggled in the rain, against the small rivers threatening to us her off the edge. I did not stoop to help her, I merely sat and thought, “I can relate.” Each night we meet here, our secret rendezvous. After the killing, after the muffled death, there is serenity, just Shadow and I under a forgiving moon.

 

Crack

 

Someone’s here, immediately I am one with the darkness. Hidden under a roof ledge I see them. They are inefficiently armed. A large dagger hanging on his belt, to bulky for someone his size, and he has a knife in his boot. I wait for him to come into view, and I pounce. The man was on the ground and disarmed before he knew what hit him. My knife on his throat I ask him the simple question that no one seems willing to answer, “Who sent you,” I inquire. The man looks at me, and refuses to answer. “I would rather die,” he spits.

 

Alone again, I look for a new rooftop to accommodate Shadow and I. I left the man with a message to his superiors; he is dead, with a knife through his throat. My signature.

Author's Note

How do you feel about the characterization?