Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

The Begining of the Spree

Its all about timing.
All about timing and not much else. There are other factors to consider, like thoughts, looks and sensibility. But in the end, a clean assassination comes down to timing. You must also be very clean, of course, you can't leave fingerprints, or hair, saliva, or any other body samples that would give away who you are. Even the target, the man or woman whom you are to kill...
The target is important.
... they must not suspect what your motive is. Because your motive is to kill him, or in the rare case, her. You must also do seemingly unimportant things like keep your eyes to yourself when in their presence, you must ware gloves when in the room you plan to kill him, and above all you must let no one see you.
The world seemingly thrives on death.
There was a time, a time long ago, where people would do all the killing themselves, yes, and the people whom they killed were not innocent.
Now, as far as sense is understood, it all comes down to method, I rarely use guns. See, guns are loud and heavy, they are the conspicous tools of mass murderer. I use alot of poisons. Poisons are good because the victim will not suspect who it is before he is already dead. And before being dead, he will find no weapons on you, he will see nothing wrong (nothing wrong being the case when you, and you must be, a good actor) and then comes the bang, or swish. Over and done.
And not a spot of blood.
Bombs have a nice touch to them too.

He stalked them, from the window of his apartement. With a binoculars. Far away, he drempt of killing them. They were not pleasant dreams, but nighmares of what he, Beni Vincenti, was capable of. Something capable of something weird in his own thoughts.
His black gloves traced the sill of the window, obvilious, keep them obvilious yes. There were three of them. The boss, a man named Karl Peters, and his two bodyguards. Good bodyguards they were, but he would have the end of them- Beni would- have the end of them all. The enouterouge walked out from a coffee house and started walking towards a limosine. They approached and a driver opened the door for his boss, the driver, poor soul, would have to go too. See, Karl walks with pose and excellent stride, Karl is king in his own wonderland. While he stalks like the knave of hearts.
In other words, he would kill Karl like a king as well.
The limosine began to slowly move foreward, Beni quickly set down the binoculars and picked up the 7.62X51mm M40 sniper gun, complete with silencer and scope and began to breathe steadily. Long breaths and deep reaches, helps one steady himself.
Then he held his breath once more.
Steady in form.

One other word about timing.
Nothing beats it. You can have all the tactics you want. Flaunt them in my face if you will, but I will take timing any day.
Now on to better things.
I have always thought of myself a an artist. Someone who paints in his mind the things he does, then acts them out. Like my most recent killing. I watched my target for awhile, not only studying the man himself, but his actions. Where he went, what he did, whom he talked to. Then for a full two hours (and he never saw me) I sat and thought of all the possibilities of ways to murder him.
First degree.
Some ways were perfect but there was a chance he would see me, other ways he would not see me but someone else would, and some ways none of theese things happened but I might have to take a chance.
And taking chances is out of the question.

1... 2... 3... he pushed down on the trigger, The gun kicked against his shoulder and a muffled bang was heard. He saw the front window of the limosine shatter and blood splashed from the head of the driver front and back. Beni immediately pulled the gun in and crouched down. No, he was sure, they had not see him. He quickly, and he was quick having practiced much, took the rifle apart and placed the pieces into a leather black bag, then zipped it up.
A well aimed shot indeed.
When this was done he drew a leather ski mask over his face to cover his identity and also put on a black over coat.
Had he been else where, he might have looked handsome.
Might have.
Then from his belt he drew out his Berreta Tomcat and screwed on a silver silencer.

My gun? Well when diplomacy fails and all the talkers are silent; guns reign supreme. Which is why, knowing me, I have one or two to keep with me for rainy days. Though the power of this gun is so minimal I have to be a close range...
I don't mind, keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

The car had came to a stop right at a lamp post. Pedestrains watching moved away and one man called the police. The two bodyguards had stepped outside of the car and were waving their guns around. The killer was still out there...
And from amoungst the thronging crowd he stepped right behind the bodyguard. Only Karl noticed his approach and was taken back, the killer was bold. Before the guard had a chance to turn or pray Beni's arm came up from where it was dormat by his side and placed the barrel of the silencer at the base of his skull.
Another muffled shot.
The second bodyguard was quick, very quick indeed and turned very fast, but saw nothing, for Beni had slipped back into the fleeing crowd. The body guard ran toward his fallen comrade and peered his eyes around, but still the clever Beni was not to be seen.
Then he was also shot, twice in the back and once in the back of the neck.
He fell and his last memory was stewing in his own blood.
Beni walked slowly up to the car where the target sat cowering. The target was pleading from behind the glass, hoping not to be killed, praying.
Praying.
Beni smashed the window with his fist...

A final word about killing... it isn't much fun. Why? You must constantly look behind your back for strangers with your name on their warrent, you are not permitted to marry, and the final most important factor, never look anyone, anyone, in the eyes.
Hear me.
I can't say what I do is good for mankind, what I do helps people to value time though.
Thats one thing I'm useful for.

Major news reporters sent their men. Cameras flashes. Mothers took their children away, teenagers made gross faces, older men shook their heads. Someone complained about the lack of authority. Finally police arrived the crowd dispersed.
Everyone went home on flicked on the TV.
They saw the blood, spilled out in torrents, they saw the smashed glass, in pieces, they saw the police in panic, for somewhere out there was a killer, bold enough to kill in public and walk away from the scene without anyone seeing his face. Right there in the midst of down town with the malls and thronging shops- Beni had killed to his satisfaction and gotten away with it.

Chapter one, part one

There was a riot on 15th near the corner store.
From far away you could hear the yelling and screaming of bystanders, shouting for the officers to take notice of them. The officers themselves tried caution tape line, keeping honest citizens honest. The cheif of police was on the verge of calling in a riot squad, but, he knew, that this would only end in tear gas and blood, and for now no one had broken the law. It was a thronging crowd, some chanting, some waving their hands, some stomping and cursing, these were the men of course. The atmosphere was that of unrest, as if there was a line, and at any time it would be broken, like the sword at the end of a hair.
This was a hostage situation.
In the corner store, nestled with his back against the stool, he rested his head on the back of an over thrown chair. He was sitting in his own blood which had pooled from his side and onto the floor, each time he moved he felt the bullet shards spread around his fleash. Both eyes were rolled to the heavens as he groaned with pain.
"Beni, you okay?"
"Fine, keep your eye on the door, he's out there."
He, being the scariest thing they knew of.
The sliding glass door to the store was shattered from the bullet which had spread glass around the floor making it hard to step. He rolled his eyes shut again and for a moment the .357 magnum slide out of his hand and onto the floor. There was a point when one of the hostages tried to stand up and he gave a start flipping the gun from its dormat position to the ladys chest.
"HEY, get back down or I'll blow your heart out your back."
How did it come to this?
He knew...
How was he either going to die or go to jail, from being one of the richest men in the city to this. He was going to be killed.
Death, he knew, was bad...
But it wasn't alwasy this way, not always was he at the bottom at the pile. He used to kill people for a living and get away with it.
Get away with it.
The mob outside shouted for blood.

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