When he moved, it was almost effortless, the swagger in which he carried himself. It was of little wonder, how in one of the safest of Cities in England, he was able to establish himself as one of the deadliest of killers –like witches – only heard in folklores, never seen in reality but in any case whose actions could probably be felt in reality and by all means would be denied by intellectuals.
But whether or not they believed he was real, whether or not they perceived him as a human, he was not to be bothered by their thoughts. For in all his days on the streets, in the night, never for once, as much as he remembered, had he had sympathy for human feelings.
By his assessment, humans were pompous, conceited, no different from animals creatures. Who for whatever reasons as it may be, saw themselves higher than everything else and who constantly needed to be checked and occasionally reminded that the universe didn't revolve or in any case attempt to revolve around them.
He smelt his distinct body fragrance amidst the violent torture of pain the heavy raindrops inflicted on him and he knew, come midnight, if all things were equal, and they always were, he would have cemented himself in the history of Britain forever and there was no turning back.
The rain came in form of prevailing spurts of liquid, dropping like they had lost their appropriate places in their comfortable abode and indeed they had. Violent storms shook the foundations of the earth and threatened to jeopardize the natural order of the earth at will.
It was unthinkable for any man to be found in any case out in the empty commanding darkness in these uncharacteristic conditions. Well, except Diego Alergo, the one man who did the unthinkable at will.
He would breeze into the stormy wet night and he would not stop till he got to his victim tonight.
Do not underestimate the man with a cause, such a man would deny the evidence of his senses amidst stunningly glaring dangers and that man was Diego.
YOU ARE READING
Diego Alergo - The Man of the Night
Short StoryThis was a story I wrote for a competition. Unfortunately and fortunately I didn't win but sometimes winning is only an end, the process of participating a means, and I value the means more than anything else.
