The man choked, spitting blood onto the sharp gravel, his legs crumpling beneath him. He gurgled some words, but his windpipe was already crushed, and his lips covered in cuts. As the knife thrusted into his stomach again, a bright, slamming pain, twisting and slitting his insides, he reached up with his hands, trying to claw at his assailant, but his efforts were feeble, the life flowing out of him in dark red streams, and pooling amongst the discarded waste and silt on the ground. People walked past just outside the alley, their view obscured by the stacks of crates and tires. They were all oblivious as the man's bloody coughs slowly subsided and his legs weakened, finally falling to the ground. The gravel cut into his face, but his glazed eyes saw none of it, his blood soaked shirt oscillating gently in the wind. The knife was still hilt deep in his stomach. I reached down and pulled it out, the dark red liquid shiny across the blade. I pulled it once more across his throat, and smiled. I took of my gloves and threw them on the body, turning my attention to the street outside the alleyway, and stepped into the harsh light of a streetlamp illuminating the black coat which hid the knife. I scanned the faces of the people walking past, analyzing, calculating, and wondering who would be next.
