Coffee Cup

3

As the first rays of dawn creep through the window, casting an ethereal glow upon the countertops and stools of the quaint coffee shop, you can't help but marvel at the delicate balance of life and death that you navigate on a daily basis. The aroma of freshly ground beans and steamed milk fills the air, a heady mix that, to some, might represent the promise of a new day, of hope and possibility.

But you know better. You know that for every customer who strolls in, searching for a pick-me-up before facing the day's challenges, there's another soul out there who deserves to be erased from existence. And for now, Samuel is that soul. Sure, you need to plan it all out, that needs time, and considering that he lives in an apartment, that would be quite tricky, honestly if he lived in a secluded house like the last guy you killed, old Jim, it would have been much better.

You carefully consider your options as you pour steaming milk into a cup, watching the froth rise and dance on the surface. The rhythmic hiss of the steam wand fills the air, a soft counterpoint to the steady stream of patrons ordering their morning fix. You could play the victim this time, that would be fun, to give him the sense of power that he craves, only to lure him on some secluded alleyway and rip all his confidence and power from him as you shove your knife deep inside his guts, oh how marvelous he would look, eyes bulging in fear and surprise, trembling and pathetic, they all look the same, you can feel yourself smiling at the thought.

Sally, your newest coworker, always a curious one, asks what made you so happy today.

"Oh, it's nothing," you reply with a dismissive wave of your hand. "Just thinking about how I'll spend my next days off."

Sally's eyes light up at this. "Really? You're finally taking a break? You should! You've been working so hard lately."

"Yeah I spoke to the manager and asked for a few days off, but you know me," you reply with a dismissive laugh. "I can't even relax when I'm supposed to." Gotta murderer assholes and keep up with life, that part, you keep to yourself.

Sally tilts her head, clearly not quite buying your dismissal but deciding not to push the issue. "Well, if you ever need anything, you know where to find me."

"Thanks, Sally," you reply with a warm smile. "You're a real sweetheart."

As the morning passes, the coffee shop begins to fill up with a steady stream of customers, each one with their own story to tell, their own lives to lead. And in the midst of it all, you continue to plot and scheme, your mind a whirlwind of dark thoughts and cunning plans. It's all a dance, a delicate balance between precision and chaos, and you revel in the control it affords you.

Soon enough, it's time for your shift to end. You bid farewell to Sally and the other baristas, exchanging pleasantries and well-wishes as you prepare to leave. But before you go, you take one last look around the shop, mentally cataloging the faces of the patrons, committing them to memory. There's always another soul out there who deserves to pay for their sins, and you're more than willing to be their judge, jury, and executioner.

As you walk out the door, the cool evening air washes over you, revitalizing your senses. Your car sits idling at the curb, waiting to whisk you away to your next destination. Tonight, you'll need to scope out Samuel's apartment complex, find the perfect spot for the deed. You pull your dark, hooded sweatshirt up over your head, obscuring your features from any prying eyes that might happen to pass by.

Steering your car down the quiet residential street, you can't help but feel a thrill of anticipation course through you. The lights of Samuel's apartment complex come into view, and you slow down, taking in the layout of the buildings, the paths between them. It's going to be tricky, but you're up for the challenge.