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He huddled in the dark recesses of the doorway where at least a little of night never died, waiting; watching and waiting for night to come again. He was a creature of the night; the glare of the sun off the hot, gray sidewalks was almost blinding to his sleepless eyes. The shadows where already starting to stretch and waver as the cool air of evening moved in across the sound. It was almost his time and he needed to find a victim. He watched them, watched them all as they moved past his doorway, the beautiful girls in their expensive clothes with their powerful men at their side. They passed him by totally oblivious to the danger lurking in the perpetual twilight. Those that did notice him saw nothing more then a strung out bum, stagnating in his own filth and urine and hurried by. These where no good. He was at heart a coward and knew it. Physical altercations made him panic and he could still hear the voices and screams of past encounters echoing inside his skull. No, the ones on their own where much easier. They usually had more cash too. He needed cash. He had taken his last bit of medication earlier and now that night had fallen it was time to seek out a fresh supply. As the last rays of the hated sun melted away he emerged from his threshold shelter and began the hunt. There is an art to choosing prey, and one must be careful. Its best just to grab and run, find and ignorant young girl with her handbag carelessly dangling by her side and grab and run. One has to be very, very careful however. Sometimes even the most meek will fight back, especially on a Friday night, payday. He felt in his belt for his reassurance. Just for self-defense in case they get ideas. He had found it, in a dumpster, a full eight inches long, crusted over with rust and grime, a horrible looking weapon, that looked worse every time he had to use it. The voices increased in intensity as he started to hunt. If only they would stop, he could deal. If only there was a way to silence them permanently he was sure he could deal. They where already wailing however and only his medication would make them stop. Up and down the thoroughfare he stalked, watching, waiting. Twice, three, five, ten times down and back again until he spots her. Young, blond, nice clothes, obviously very tired from a long working day. Head down and lost in thought. Thought of home and bed not paying any attention to the people around her. Follow. Close, but not too, don’t want her to notice. Wait for a nice friendly dark spot to make the grab. Another block, make the run. Charging towards her, a quick grab. She is quicker and holds on, shouts, screams; the voices reach a horrible crescendo. Shut her up; shut her up, they’ll all hear, a quick slash with the knife, run, run get away. The voices wont stop, his skull feels about to burst with the pressure he has to stop them, has to let them out. He runs to the dark, dirty end of an ally collapses into a pile of garbage, and taking his knife, finds release.
This is the first draft. I feel the end is weak (among other flaws) but I’m to damn tired to work on it any more tonight so I offer it up for suggestions. Any Ideas?