Picture challenge #12: Crime

redblood

Anxious Tomato Will Bite You!
Original poster
MYTHICAL MEMBER
Posting Speed
  1. 1-3 posts per day
  2. One post per day
  3. 1-3 posts per week
  4. One post per week
  5. Slow As Molasses
Online Availability
Afternoons, evenings and nights.
Writing Levels
  1. Intermediate
  2. Adept
  3. Advanced
  4. Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Male
  2. Female
Genres
Historical, fantasy, magic, horror, supernatural, survival, vampires, demons, pirates, mutants, ghosts, romance (FxF, MxM, MxF) (Romance should be part of the plot and not the whole plot in itself), etc.
INFO: They say that a picture can tell a thousand words. How many can you find?

Each week a new image will be posted, and your challenge will be to write whatever the image inspires you to write. It can be anything as long as it relates to the picture. A plot, a scene, a short story, a poem, a character, etc. You can write as much or as little as you wish. It's not the length that matters, it's what you put into it. There is no time limit to these challenges, so feel free to jump in at any time.


last_year_02_by_sanchiko-d856246.jpg

(Source)​
 
Someone had to do it.

He'd run too many times, hurt too many people to be allowed to continue his game of cat and mouse with all who tried to halt his wicked sprees. He knew them all, the uniforms to watch for, the signs of the undercover cops who sought to see him on death row. They tried every trick they knew, but it seemed this man was just too good when faced by those trained. Maybe the training kept them from thinking as he did? I'm not too sure, but there is one thing I am sure of.

He didn't expect me.

I was a mere stranger in the hallway, a knife ready to go to stop any more people from feeling the pains he caused. Some may ask how I knew I had gotten the right man, but I'd seen his face flashed on the screen of my television so many times that it haunted me like a ghost. I knew his name from the reports, and yet never did I speak such a toxic thing for fear of myself growing ill as he had. He was insane to me, and I needed no permission nor recognition in ending the reign of hell he'd brought down in my home state. This rage filled me as I gripped my knife too, ready to complete my task.

I missed the mark.

It went both fast as a blink and painfully slow. One stab missed, cutting his flesh on the side of his body in a place that wouldn't kill, but I had readjusted the aim and managed into his heart a moment later, almost before he even turned and shouted. Someone by then let a scream escape, and the few who'd been around to see me bolted to the door, trying to flee from me, as if I was the mad man. They didn't know though, and I only hoped the jury and court would later understand.

Someone had to do it.
 
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