SIGHT By Pixie J. King

Sight


A silence descended over the neighbourhood like an ominous veil, the moon covered by inky coloured clouds. I waited in the darkness, poised; hidden in the shadows surrounding the one bedroom flat, patiently waiting in the cold.

I took a deep breath and exhaled, the air coiling around me. I sipped my hot coffee, the liquid scorching my tongue and warmed my insides. Did I really want to do this?

Her light flickered on. She didn’t close the curtains.

I looked up.

Through the eye of my telescope I saw her nimble body as she moved around her room, unaware of my presence.

I smiled, felt my heart flutter.

Her well lit room made it easy for me to watch her disrobe – her hair was wet and her blue eyes were filled deep with lust. Her moist skin seemed to shimmer in her light like golden dust.

Her pale naked body pranced about, treating my eyes to a feast. I could smell those aromas; jasmine and orange flower. I could almost taste her sweet innocence. I needed to taste her.

I wiped perspiration from my brow, licked my lips as she danced in the middle of the room, nude. Wasn’t she aware that she was showing her perfectly rounded breasts to a hidden audience?

I couldn’t take my eyes off her as she frolicked around her room, her hips sending me into a trance, a sensual sway that sent shivers down my spine.

I felt my groin throb; my heart ached for her to be mine.

She moved towards the window, peering out into the darkened night. Her body was exposed; my breath became raspier as my eyes honed in on her breasts. I had to have her.

What was she trying to do to me? Maybe she was teasing me, trying to drive me wild. With every move she made, my cravings deepened. My eyes grazed over her body, from her toes all the way to her eyes; those deep blue eyes were mesmerising to look at. They made my heart melt.

But then she saw me.

Shit.

She looked directly at my window, a few houses up the hill. She wasn’t meant to know of my nightly fixation, my greatest pleasure.

I moved.

I looked through the sight of my M40A5 rifle that I had acquired from a friend who owed me a favour.

She had betrayed me, exposed me. She would tell the police. I couldn’t let her escape the grasp I had on her, I had to have her.

The touch of the metal soothed my conscience and calmed my soul. I felt the chilled wind strike my skin as I opened the window.

Adrenaline sent a bolt down my spine as I lined the crosshairs against her head, my finger poised over the trigger.

‘Come to Daddy,’ I whispered, and saw the red specks fly like fireworks. She jarred to the floor, dead. Her mother was gone. I killed her too.

I groaned softly as the tingling sensations pulsed through my body, the brooding desire grew deep inside my stomach. The thought of touching her moist skin in a night of passion made my heart race.

I took my keys and ran out my apartment door and onto the street. The mother had no idea I kept her key after the divorce settlement.

I could now collect my prize; the 16 year old was mine.

Bio:

Pixie is a student who is new to the writing world, and writes when she can, where she can. Her work is mainly flash fiction and poems with the occasional short story. She is now however embarking on the mammoth task of writing two completely different novels, and is finding it very daunting and time consuming.

Pixie’s work can be found at http://theworksofpixiejking.blogspot.com/