Her Shadows

PROLOGUE

Each time I was locked in that room of complete darkness, its walls caving in to trap me within its tomb, I had only the words of my adoptive mother to comfort me. A poem she had read me in a singular moment of love, before I was taken.

She saw white in black

Now she sees black in white

And lives in grey

Unbeknownst to me, I would become that girl living in a world drained of colour. Raised to shield myself between the shades of grey. It is within those shadows, that the line between good and evil began to blur. Where I became what I am today.

A predator.

~~~

Hunting. Feet silent. Face impassive.

I follow my target, like a tiger would stalk her prey.

I take advantage of my simple black tights and long-sleeved black crop as I slip into the shadows.

My target having no idea that with every tick, tick, tick of the clock, his death looms closer. Not having bothered to notice the seemingly innocent looking girl trailing behind him as he exits the mall, briefcase in hand and walks toward an alleyway.

I watch as he wipes his top-lip, imagining the sweat building there as the nerves kick in. See, even he knows what he's doing is wrong, and yet he continues.

Now in the cover of the shadowed alley, his steps grow confident, louder, more dominant against the asphalt. He thinks he's gotten away with it. That by exiting the over-populated mess of the mall he has managed to slip through the cracks.

I wouldn't allow that.

On silent feet, I grip the nearby water pipe, using it as leverage to climb up the building. I position my feet against that pipe, momentum building as I leap to a fire exit and take post.

I manage to remain just out of sight letting the darkness welcome me into its merciless grasp. Looking down, I watch the scene unfold.

My target meets his client, almost identical in their matching black suits and brooding faces. A few words are exchanged, their contents unimportant. I know what they're here to do. My target hands his client the files, no doubt the identities of the poor souls they hope to traffic through their operation, and clicks his case shut.

That click was my queue. Gripping the metal of the fire escape, its rusty bite ploughing through the sensitive skin of my palms, I swing myself over the ledge. Landing right on top of my target's shoulders.

The impact jars him from his stance, causing him to stumble and fall to the ground. My weight forces his face to thump against the asphalt. Not allowing the client a moment's chance to run, I grab my gun, silencer attached, and plant a bullet in his skull. Right between the eyes.

His blood splatters against my face, the liquid tainting my pale skin and tickling my cheek. I watch that same blood paint the walls red.

I feel nothing. Not a moments remorse. Not a flicker of doubt or regret. Nothing.

With that same deadly calm, I point the gun to the back of my already concussed preys head and shoot once more. His blood joining his partners, mingling on my skin.

Not even sparing the two bodies a second glance, I simply holster my gun, step over my prey's motionless corpse, collect the briefcase and make my way home.

This world is not made of black and white. There is no right or wrong.

Only grey.