AMELIA POV
The next night I return, this time filled with determination rather than boredom.
But suddenly, the mission has shifted and no longer rests upon watching Mr Parker. Instead I desperately want to watch the boy. The boy I find so intriguing, I spent the night thinking of those hazel eyes.
From my perch upon the neighbouring shed I cock my head, like a curious puppy, and raise my binoculars to his bedroom window. I studied the blueprints of his house and have pinpointed the room he entered the day before.
I guess this could be considered somewhat stalker behaviour. But in my line of work, watching and studying was like second nature. It was what I was raised to do. Only this time I'm not watching to determine weakness and ready myself for the kill.
This time I was simply intrigued.
Through his window, conveniently facing where I sit, he is hunched over his desk, his hand urgently moving across a piece of paper.
What is he doing? Shifting to get a better look I realises he's... drawing. An artist?
What a mundane activity to be able to fill your time. Such a normal and luxurious hobby to have. This boy's life so unaffected by tragedy he can find joy in the simple task of drawing.
How curious.
From my position I cannot make out what he is drawing but I so desperately want to. I wants to see what has caused that furrow in his brow, the pinch of his nose. His tongue peaking, through his lips and just resting slightly outside his mouth. This sight was actually quite... adorable.
I sit there, for what seems like hours but could only have been a few minutes, watching him shading, erasing then drawing again on this piece of paper. Looking as though it holds his world in its ink.
In the comfort of the darkness and shadows, I couldn't help but feel a twitch of my lips as they tried to pull into a smile. The muscles unaccustomed to such a gesture.
At this I shake my head. What the hell am I doing? He may be free to draw and paint, but I am not. I am not here to feel joy. I am here on a mission.
With that thought my face hardens again into a mask of violence and indifference. Feeling the familiar expression take its place once again. This I could handle.
Suddenly I hears the front door slide open, bringing my focus back to the task at hand. I slide my binoculars view toward the front of the house and spot Mr Parker exiting.
What could he possibly be doing leaving near midnight?
To my surprising dismay, I follow Mr Parker. He is my mission, not his son. I would do well to remember that fact.
So, I follow Mr Parker into the darkness of the night, and leave his enigma of a son behind to draw the world on that piece of paper.
YOU ARE READING
Her Shadows
Roman d'amour~ A World Painted Grey: Book 1 ~ Already incapacitated, I drag his limp body toward the smoking car. Fastening him back into his seat, seatbelt back in place. Then I grip his skull with my glove-clad hands and ram his head into the steering wheel. O...
