Assassin

A short story, based on a very strange dream!

She woke up, not with a start, but with a realization.  She couldn’t say that she heard something. She sensed something.  Someone was at the foot of the stairs, standing silently.  Someone, she knew, who was coming to kill her.  She knew, because she had been the one at the foot of other stairs, in other homes, many times before.  Rising a bit, but not sitting, she listened intently, straining to hear the next footfall on the next step.  She knew she wouldn’t hear it, but that the step had been made, slowly, silently, inexorably climbing to the top.  She could see the doorway at the top of the steps from where she lay in her bed.  She peered into the darkness, knowing that she would not see anything or anyone until it was too late.  Though her sidearm was on the nightstand, she didn’t bother to pick it up.  She knew that a professional was approaching, and that any move on her part would be futile.  By now the assassin would be on the seventh step.  Silently standing, waiting to move up, to move toward her target.  Just six more steps remain. What she felt was expectation, maybe anticipation, but by no means terror or even fear. She remained calm as her enemy--was that who it was?--slowly approached the top step. She knew the feeling, nearing the target, controlling every movement, every muscle, every breath. She knew the feeling of invincibility, of certainty, that the person whose picture she had found in the envelope would be dead in a matter of moments.  So she waited, half lying, half sitting, for that moment. Without remorse.  

Author's Note

Any feedback appreciated

Reviews

[Wyrn Tiger]

You kind of left it hanging their, but over all not the best story iv seen or read. But most of us art professional writers. Maybe a cu-pule periods ware they don't belong. It be real funny if she opened the door and it was just the mail man.