the stolen... more

We’re not that different, you and I he thought of the mosquito. We both prey upon others. We both just want to be in and out, our job done without being caught.

He trained his scope on the man in the Nehru jacket. He trailed him as he walked from the grand entrance of the pavilion towards the limousine.

He waited, wanting to take the man as he stooped into the vehicle. Shooting through the crack between the door and the body of the car. He had used this move before. If he timed it just right the body would slump into the seat and the driver would close the door thinking the man had merely wanted to stretch out.

The man approached the car. The driver opened the door. The flesh was pierced.

He did not cry out, but he squeezed the trigger and the shot went wide, striking the hand of the driver. The mosquito had changed his focus, had pulled him out of his zone a half mile away and drew him back here, into his own personal space.

He needed to run. Instead he watched the mosquito feast on his blood.

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