The ceiling slowly came into focus. The man scratched idly at his stubble. The room was dimly lit by the window which showed a dreary damp Saturday morning was awaiting the man. He rolled to the edge of the bed and planted his feet firmly on the cold hardwood floor. He made his way to the bathroom to shave, passing his briefcase on the way. Seeing the case brought back a memory of the night before.
I just made it through the train doors before they closed. There was another man in the carriage with me, a dirty disgusting man. I could smell him from the other end of the carriage. He had clearly been drinking with whatever money he managed to scrounge off the honest workers that made London tick. He was a waste of time and space. What did he deserve to live for? What good was he doing the city?
He sat with his arms crossed and head down. I got up and walked towards him. I slid my hand into my pocket and closed it slowly around the marble sculpture held within. He looked up as I came to a halt in front of him. His eyes red from drinking and his hands shaking slightly. How pathetic. My hand was gripping the sculpture tightly as I tried to restrain myself from striking him.
“Wadda want?” He demanded of me.
“Why are you here?” I questioned.
“It’s warmer here than outside” He slurred.
“No. I mean how did you get here? What went wrong with your life that you ended up a worthless piece of s**t?” I demanded.
He rose out of his seat. His hand dove into his coat and returned brandishing a small knife. I took half a step back from him. He swung at me but I caught his arm and wrenched the knife from his grasp. I retaliated swiftly by burying the knife in his heart and ripping it back out. He fell back onto his chair and I went to work leaving my call-sign. I left the carriage and moved up through the train, his knife in my pocket. I found a carriage with other people and took a seat. I disembarked the train at my stop and made my way home, a content feeling filling my veins.
He smiled as he thought back to his handy work the night before. He walked to the chair by the window where his coat was hanging and slowly removed the marble sculpture from its resting place. The sculpture was a work of art in its own way. A finely worked piece of marble. It formed a realistic and detailed representation of a wolf sitting on its haunches howling at the sky. How appropriate that it be a wolf. The wolf, a fearsome hunter, reflected by its owner.
The man smiled, a cold smile.