Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Bintower took out the gun
With a silencer attached,
Placed it close to the head

Of the sleeping man. The man
Snored; his breath seemed to
Fill the room. His breath smelt

Of booze and cigarette smoke.
Bintower eased the trigger back
Until the kickback from the gun

Jerked his hand and arm away.
There was a sound of two deep
Thuds. The man seemed to move,

Then became motionless. Blood,
Tissue and bone splashed on the
Pillow behind the shattered head

Like some odd item of modern art.
The man was dead. Bintower wiped
The gun on the bed sheet, placed

The gun away. The job was done.
The room was silent. He drew back
The curtains, opened a window to

Let in cool air and bright moonlight.
The pillow reddened. The dead man’s
Eyelids were half-open as if he’d

Intended to wake. His lips were semi
Parted and bloodied. From his vantage
Point from the window, Bintower saw

Neon lights from across the city like a
Diadem on the head of a beautiful dame.