Mostly Black

The eyes are the window´s to the soul they said. That´s why he always wore sunglasses, he had no soul. He stared down at her, her lifeless eyes trying to stare back. It still baffled him how easily a life could be taken away. Just one finger; one. Then it was gone. He crossed the floor and let the scene sink in; he drew his breath and exhaled slowly. Her perfume still flickered in the air by the mirror. A black dress was hanging over the chair, tag still on. His eyes went back to her body, the white one she was wearing suited her better; even now when it wasn´t white anymore he could tell. Then he walked away, bag over his shoulder and his gun carefully put back in it´s place. He closed the door silently after himself, the room now smelled of bleach, and death. The perfume was gone now, just like her. 

 

On his way down the stairs he bumped into a little boy, “sorry” the child´s voice echoed in his ears as he left he building. Then he was back among the living, mixing in with those still laughing, still being able to love. The world he saw behind his glasses could look perfect. Happy families eating ice cream, toddlers playing in the park, but it didn´t fool him. He saw the world for what it truly was, hiding behind no illusions. It was black and white. Mostly black. The white didn´t stay white for long, just like the snow in the winter would loose it´s glow by one footstep, one peck of dust; one mistake.

No use in trying to fix or protect an existence, a world already broken. His steps slowed down and he turned to take a shortcut though a dark alley, at once feeling more at home.

 

“Excuse me Sir? Sir?” He glanced at her, his expression not changing. She smiled apologetically, “This came for you this morning Sir.” He accepted a big, white envelope and nodded before walking into the elevator. The room was cold, different from the last one, but they all still looked the same. He put the bag on the bed and sat down next to it. Staring at the envelope in his hands before ripping it open. A cellphone and a note fall into his lap. His eyes narrowed over the letters carefully printed on the white paper, ruining it. Then he picks the phone up, waits. “Is it done?” a voice murmurs. He breathes heavily into the receiver, “Yes.” “You found the note?” “Yes,” he says again, tone hard. “Good. You know what you have to do.” The line breaks and he throws the phone into the bin in the bathroom while carefully storing all information in his brain. He briefly sees his own reflection but turns away at once. Then his legs wander off to the bed in the middle of the room, half covered in shadow. He´s still got two hours to go, stuck at a standstill again. He hates it, being alone with himself. His eyes close on the way down to the pillow. All he sees is darkness, no memories, no flashes of the lives he has taken away. He didn´t really take anything away, just the black and white world, well it´s mostly black.

Half an hour passes by but he doesn’t drift off to sleep. At last he get´s up and wanders around the room. His steps are soundless on the soft, blue carpet. He walks over to the bed and picks up his gun, he hold´s it tight to his chest, like it´s his best friend. Maybe it is. He keeps staring at the blank object, it´s just an object, a gun, but it can take away so much. His thoughts travel to another dimly lit hotel room, and a man standing in front of the door, holding a little boy in his hand. The door is kicked open and suddenly the boy is covered in blood. There is pain, a lot of pain. But it goes away every time a gunshot echoes trough the air, and the world shakes, someone else’s world. He stares down at his hand holding the gun, drops it on the bed. Turns on the TV to stop thinking, to stop remembering, to stop all sense of emotion. His emotion is gone, it´s supposed to be gone.

 

The TV is sending hard waves of noise into the silence. He stares at the news reporter with a silhouette of an apartment building in the background. A picture of a young woman appears on the screen, her hair is circling her heart shaped face nicely, and she is smiling. He looks at her smile, and then he turns to look at the news reporter’s grave expression. “…In apartment 5D Gale Adams, only 21, was found murdered only an hour ago. We are reporting live from the scene. The police don´t have a suspect at this point but…” He turns the TV off as the cameras flick over the crowds surrounding the building. Sadness and badly hidden interest mark their features. The TV turns black, just like his heart. Well there a pieces of white, but it´s mostly black.

 

He is walking down the street, passing many faces but not seeing any of them, just one. The man in front of him is dressed in a grey suit carrying a briefcase. The man is laughing into his cellphone as he passes a coffee shop. He get´s closer, unnoticed. “Yes, I will. See you then, love you too. Bye.” The man hangs up, and turns the corner. The sun is slowly sliding behind a cloud; he is slowly moving forward, like a shadow. The sky is only clouds now, twilight streaming downwards into every corner of the street. It´s black. The man in grey falls face down, drops his phone. People scream as he slips away, away from the alley, the black hole, that for a few seconds made him feel at home.

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

I´ll be really thankfull for all reviews, looking forward to seeing what you guys think. Keep in mind that English is not might first language so there might be a few grammar mistakes.

Reviews

[John Lauterbach]

Only two grammar things I'll point out; 'Windows' doesn't need an apostrophe and in "... the snow in the winter would loose it´s glow..." the 'loose' should be 'lose.'

On to the story! I think this piece needs to be expanded on. As a reader, I'm dropped into a moment in this hitman's life between jobs, where he's mulling over his philosophy of the world. I'd like to know more about what made him start killing people, why he's uncomfortable both alone and in public and what kind of places he would find comfortable.

I like the opening line explaining his sunglasses, but it implied (to me, maybe not others.) that he doesn't have eyes. I assume that he does have eyes, because he does a lot of looking and you mention them later; but I held on to the possibility of no eyes, yet still seeing. That made for an interesting, surreal quirk on the character. Totally my interpretation though. I like the presence of the perfume in the first paragraph, too.

I think this is great groundwork for a longer story about this guy, like an introduction. Show me his next kill and a little more about himself in a new chapter!

[Johanna]

Thankyou, I´ll have the grammer fixed :)

I wasn´t planning on writing any more of this, but because of your review I will so you can get answers to some of your questions :)

Yes, haha, he does have eyes, but your interpretation was really funny and did give depth to the character so I think I´ll keep it like that for people to picture it in their own way, like you did.

A next chapter will be up soon :) Thankyou for the review and for giving me motivation and ideas to write more. Have a nice day! :)

[John Lauterbach]

The new section doesn't feel the same as the first. It's more poetic, but I think the action suffered along the way. I do like the repeating 'mostly black' and the sense that he was created to be how he is.

Consider turning this into a full book! I like the angle of a story from a hitman's point of view, but he needs something to challenge him. Someone he can't kill for whatever reason, or a botched hit that gets a lot of people after him.

[Johanna]

That´s it more poetic, should I change that? or can I leave it? I hope it didn´t turn to boring in the second part..

I will consider, and that´s a genius idea! A challenge. That would be good for him.. I think I´ll add a part with that in it. Thankyou for your review and for your useful feedback :) appreciate it :)

[John Lauterbach]

It's entirely up to you on how you want to deliver the story, I'd only say that you keep it consistent. I think a poetic story about a hitman would be a lot of work, but I'm also not a big poetry guy.

If you ever need some inspiration for crime dramas, there's a comic/graphic novel series called '100 bullets' that I loved. Lots of cool, original ideas in there.

[Craig2591]

Yes, there were a few grammatical errors, but not very many. Your biggest one was changing from past tense to present tense about halfway through the story.

I like mysterious stories like this, but it was a little too cryptic for me. I'm not sure what happened at the end.

You did well setting a dark mood with your style. I really liked the repetition of "mostly black".

I hope you write more like this. I am a fan of 'Nordic Noir'. I read "The Snowman" and "The Leopard" by Jo Nesbo. Very good books but very, very dark!

[Johanna]

Thankyou Craig :)

YEs.. I have a tendency to do that, I´ll try to fix it later so it´s right :)

In the end he shoots the man in the grew suit, and walks away. "People scream as he slips away, away from the alley, the black hole, that for a few seconds made him feel at home." to show that the only time he feels whole is when he does something terrible as that.

Thankyou :) I like Jo Nesbø too! He is very popular here in Norway :)
Thankyou for your review Craig :)

[Craig2591]

Perhaps if people heard a gunshot at the end. Good story.