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Purging the Devilish Intent
by Danielle Emond
The one called Assassin always watches. Even when he sleeps, a part of him
stays awake, listening. Anything out of the ordinary alerts him. Nothing escapes his
attention.
Today, he watches the others. The Master has ordered him not to touch the others,
but the Master is gone. The others are no longer protected.
An imp of mischief seizes him, and he imagines himself free of the Master's
restriction. He could flay the skin from their bodies. He could nibble their
delicate meat and crunch their insignificant bones. They would blub in terror at his
power.
Frenzied by the vividness of his fantasies, he feels the tensing of his muscles and
reasserts discipline. Vigilance must always precede violence.
Preparation before passion.
He creeps closer. The others notice him. He halts, and across the distance, they
gaze at each other. The others observe him with expressions that are bland and
incurious. As if unaware of the danger, he poses; they turn nonchalantly away.
He snarls. How dare they dismiss him so casually! Don't they realize how often he
could have taken them before now? Do they trust so blindly in the Master's order
that they believe it will continue to shelter them? Can't they see his superiority?
Did they think he would deign to obey the Master's edicts forever?
He leaps. Still they ignore him. He rages at their indifference and designs an
attack that will prove how they've underestimated him. A lesson first. He'll tease
them and play with their puny lives. Only when he becomes bored, will he kill them.
The Master's early return foils his scheme. Angry words descend on him like the hot
coals of a god's wrath. The Master rescues the others, granting them the protection
of a higher plane of existence.
Purged of all devilish intention, Assassin ducks as the Master moves to swat him. He
jumps from the table and lands lightly on four feet. Flicking his tail with
deliberate unconcern, he saunters off and returns to his favorite perch on the sofa.
He stares across the living room at the goldfish, now on the desk. Unmoved by the
recent threat of death, they swim calmly in their bowl.
The one called Assassin closes his eyes, as if to sleep, and watches.
©Danielle Emond
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