Dorian’s Nephew

The alarm on his phone brings him awake. Carefully, so as not to wake the sleeping woman beside him, he sits up. With a sigh, he reaches into his neatly folded clothes and pulls out the pistol concealed there. He stands up and slowly walks to the foot of the bed. The women stir and slowly wakes. He lifts the gun and aims it directly at her chest. There’s no chance of missing at this range. He looks into her eyes and finds sadness and pity. She knew. Even before bringing him back to her apartment, she knew. A tear rolls slowly down his cheek. She smiles softly and slowly gets up, making no attempt to rush him. She walks slowly to the blackened window of her apartment. Turning to face the man, she opens her mouth to speak. He hardly notices the recoil as the bullet leaves the barrel. For a moment, she hangs motionless. Before the glass shatters and she flies out into the morning sun, bursting into flame. The man returns to his clothes and gets dressed. After pulling on his boots, he examines his reflection in the wall mirror. Black unruly hair frames a handsome face that contain vividly green eyes. A bright blue jacket loosely bucked over a white shirt and black trousers that are tucked into black riding boots. He slowly pulls on white gloves and places the pistol into its shoulder holster on his left side.

“Is this what you had in mind, uncle Dorian, when you made me like you once were?” He softly asks the empty room before turning towards the door.

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