revisit to exercise 2

He looked at me, sitting on the opposite bench seat of the railway carriage, his eyes never leaving mine, the loathing was present, which was new, I’d never felt this from someone before, only fear, terror and sorrow. I’d never sat with someone who had prior knowledge who I was and what I was capable of, it was refreshing…
His gun lay casually in his hand, resting in the crook of the other arm, close enough to put an end to tonight’s plans. I laughed inwardly, my eyes remaining like frosted glass, giving nothing away, what could this bully boy for the weak know of my plans.

I saw the beginnings of the paunch, on a man too young to be wearing it, I saw the tired, darkened eyes, crying out for rest. The clothes were clean, but not the best, probably the same as his diet, he didn’t get enough exercise, probably not enough sleep and I bet his social life was a mess.

There was a time as a boy, when I lived a meagre life, when I craved for more, it took me time to realise I can have all I want.
I lost it all, they took my dolly, they took my shoes, I watched as they sold them and bought cigarettes.
Where as now, I live with the best every day, if it’s no good, I cast it off, throw it away.
I don’t waste my time on average, won’t tolerate poor, if you offer me anything but the best, then you offer me yourself in apology too, don’t you see policeman?

Why does this obviously intelligent man follow such a life, what made him chose to live like a human catastrophe waiting to be for filled through his own disregard for himself. He’s come to me to take my place, he’s had his fill of this sorry life, I am to be his saviour..

They all give in, they all submit to time and to dying, like fallen fruit slowly rotting on the ground.
Not me, I wake every day, running from death, offering him another in my place, delaying the touch of the cold, preserving my body and my mind with every thing I do. How I train, how I sleep, what I eat and I drink.

When I offer another wasteful life, it is to recharge my spirit with the thrill of the hunt, the chase, the kill and that adorable counter chase by those like this pathetic man, everything is planned, tested, measured for my own risk.
When I am ill, it is my body going under cover, playing at being meek, when I’m the tramp in your bin my friend, I do so, to remember why I hate you so, like rats in shit, an ugly boil, I’m here to clean up this sickly race.

The night outside the glass windows sucks away the light from within, can’t you see? Like a junkie hungry for a long overdue fix, I see your soul detective crying out to escape with the light, I will release you soon.

That overpowering smells of pine fresh cleaner, vomit and sweat emanated from floor and seats alike around me, cloying, like the clinging molluscs of humanity, leeches who try to taste my power.
Signs of youth graffiti and discarded refuse accompany this tired gathering coach, much like the pockets of the sleepy policeman I don’t doubt, full of waste, things not done.

As this train moves, shadows played through the windows and create a shifting tapestry of darkness and radiance, I wonder if I can get to you detective, with my meat hook, in the blind spot between the shadows and light. I gauge, I calculate, I watch, will you yawn, you surely must from lack of sleep…

Gun shot,
“ No more killing kids and old people you fucking sick coward! You’ve no bloody bottle when an adult stands in front of you, you didn’t even utter a word!” the detective grunted, spitting on the startled dead face…