Apr 072011

Falling is the last thing you feel…


Standing on this rooftop, the world is nothing but your chess-board. At least that is what it has been.

The wind in your hair, lazily burrowing furrows.

You look up at the sky, inhale deeply. You exhale. You feel all tension go. You feel loose.

You want to cry until there’s nothing left in you.

You want to laugh until the whole world hears your voice; the peals of your laughter like giant rainbows in the sky, shining bright for the whole world to see.

You think of all you’ve done.

You think of the pain you’ve caused. You see his face, the very first man you killed. You see with perfect clarity in your mind’s eye, as the bullet smashes his forehead, forever freezing that look of panicked amusement on his face, as his hands come up in a placating gesture. You smell the gun-smoke, even now. The cough of the sound-suppressor is loud in your ears, in your soul.

Your very own baptism by fire, by blood.

You remember feeling like you want to run and never stop, never look back.

You remember feeling like a god, a death-dealing god.

You remember…

You remember the long, arduous road that took you up to that point, and the long and lonely road you have travelled from then onwards.

They are nothing but faces in the wind now, but their voices keep you up at night. Their screams chase you into the dreamless darkness.

Your jacket, rippling.

You see her face, feel her hair on your skin. The memory of the delicious shocks she elicited within you haunts you, even now. You remember the light she gradually brought into your life, and you remember being happy for the first time, in a very long while…

Her eyes, dark whirlpools that sucked you into depths of deliciousness.

Her voice, a million bells and a thousand orchestras, singing in the night.

Her lips, taking you far away from all your worries, all your troubles.

Most of all you remember her heart. The safest place in the world for you.

You hear the gunshot that takes her life. You remember feeling her life stain your hands, coating you with warmth. You can hear her wheezing even now, not comprehending but still smiling all the same through blood-rimmed lips that you have kissed a million times over. She smiles, just because she is dying in your arms.

You remember her staring at you, until she stares no more.

You remember the numb feeling that envelopes you, and that has stayed with you till this very day. And the days roll by..

Now you are here.

The wind, caressing your fingers.

You step onto the edge.

You look down.

Falling is the last thing you feel…




Raymond @raymond

Avatar of RaymondI am a Crazy Mind. I am a Story-teller. I write Horror/Thriller fiction. I am fascinated by the Darkness of the Human Heart, and the Shadows of the Otherness. I am only able to delve this deep into the Darkness because of the Light of God which sustains me. I am a mad man, and I live my madness vicariously through the characters I create. I am going to blow open the Nigerian Literary Landscape, and I will let the world know that yes, we can write things that are not about the Single Story. I love God, my family, Dark tales, Rock Music, Photography and Chocolate. I live close to a Cemetery, but it doesn't look Dark; it is too open. The Necropolis in Glasgow on the other hand, that is the real 'City Of The Dead'. It sits upon a hill, and casts its shroud over the city. Epic. What am I doing here? Meh. Worry much? o_O

Go to Raymond's profile, and read more of his/her posts.

  31 Responses to “The Mental Hallways Of An Assassin”


  2. I guess what goes around…..but it should have come around on his head, not the innocent woman’s.

    I liked this ‘new’ style of writing, simple, short, direct sentences.

    Well done!!!

  3. 2nd person POV, beautifully implemented, but, u knw na…
    You too much still Raymond, well done.

  4. Well done, I liked the style too. I’m left wondering why he ended up an assasin.

  5. Good stuff. Think you really captured the true psychological mood. Good one.

  6. You were in that mood??? As per assassin-mood? Raymond, I don dey fear u oh!

    Nice story sha…Especially love that last sentence “Falling is the last thing you feel” So poetic.

    • Thanks bro. As for the mood, hehehe. It was like ‘either write this, or go crazy’. And so since I love my sanity, I dropped everything, took up my manuscript, and poured it out…

  7. @Raymond, I was not smiling when I started reading this, but I couldn’t stop when I’d finished. ‘Falling is the last thing you feel…’ arrested me, it was poetic… But arrest? Yes! I thought I was going to read a narrative, it was, but a narrative poetry! Poetry in prose… A powerful synergy if u asked me, I guess u already did, lolz. ‘Falling is the last thing you feel…’ at the end, relieved me of the smile that was playing on my face. And now? I’m still smiling!!!

  8. Whao….I like this. @Raymond me still dey follow you like twitter. Good one Bruh

  9. i’m hiding before ‘the last thing i feel is falling’

  10. a man who leads a pack of Rakmuns

  11. Nice..Like the writing style too, does it have a name?


  13. I loved how in very sparse snatches, you told all that needed to be told about the MC. Did he accidentally kill her? Did one of his enemies do the job? Doesn’t matter; all we need to know is that he is (literally) dying from the pain of lost love. And needless to say, I loved the way laced the story with your trademark lyricism.

    Unfortunately, it’s not long enough - else, I would have dashed you points. Sorry, but I don’t donate for flash fiction o! :)

  14. beautiful style…I like the transition from killer to victim…very smooth.Nice construct.

  15. hmm. So good I wanted more.

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